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LITERARY REMAITfS 



OF THE LATE 




WILLIAM Bf O^PEABODY, D.D. 



EDITED BY 



EVERETT PEA BODY. 



BOSTON 



PUBUSHED BY BENJAMIN H, GREENE, 

12-1, WASHINGTON-STKEEX. 

NEW YORK: CHAS. B. NOETON. C. S. FKAJfCIS AND CO. 

LONDON : JOHN CHAPMAN. 

1850. 



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IB Hxclt. 

"JnTTT. TJh: 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in tlie )'ear 1849, by 

B. H. GREENE, 

In tlie Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts 



BOSTON: 

PRINTED BY JOHN AV I L S O X, 
No. 21, School-Street. 



PREFACE. 



It was intimated in the volume containing the Memoir 
and Sermons of Dr. Peabody, that a collection of his Mis- 
cellaneous Writings would be published. Accordingly, 
the present selection has been prepared from his numer- 
ous contributions to the " North American Review." 
These were written at different periods from 1830 to 1846. 
They embrace a number of favorite subjects, and illustrate 
the extensive research, the enthusiastic love of nature, the 
delicate perception of moral beauty, and the lofty and 
uncompromising standard of right, which, blended toge- 
ther by his quiet humor, always characterized him. In 
selecting the articles for publication, the object has been 
to give those which have been marked out as best by 
public opinion, and those which seemed to give the most 
faithful picture of his mind and heart. Omissions have 
been made only when dictated by the necessity of reduc- 
ing the article within proper limits, and then such parts 
have been omitted as were not necessary to the connec- 
tion or value of the article. 

It has been thought by some of Dr. Peabody's friends, 
that a volume of his Miscellanies would be incomplete 
without a selection from his Poetical Writings. At their 
suggestion, those which seemed most worthy to be pre- 
served have been brought together, and are placed at the 
end of the volume. 



C O N T E N T S. 



REVIEWS. 

Page 

Sttidiks IX Por.THY ........ 1 

Byrox 30 

AjIF.RICAN FoRF.ST-TRr.ES ....... 62 

IIarits of Insects ........ 99 

Biography of Birds ....... 137 

Mex of Lkttehs and Science, Art. I, .... 199 

Men of liETTERs AND SoiENCE, Art. II. . . . . 249 

Addison .......... 29.5 

Margaret . . . . . •. . . . 379 

POETRY. 

To THE Memoky of a Young Lady ..... 413 

The Departure 41o 

I;iNES ON Dying ......... 419 

The Land of riiE Bi.est . . . . . . . 423 

The Kising Moon . . . . . . - . . 424 

Autumn Evening ........ 425 

liAMENT of Anastasius ....... 426 

To A Young Lady, on receiving a Present of Feowers . 429 

monadnock ......... 432 

On seeing a Deci:askd Infant ...... 434 

" And the Waters wicre abated " . . . . . 436 

"Man GivETH UP THE GHOST, and avheke is he ? " . . 438 

Pericles . . . . • 440 

Lines to ......... 445 



R E V I E ¥ S 



STUDIES IN POETRY. 



Studies in Poetry ; embracing Notices of the Lives and Writings 
of the best Poets in the English Language, a copious Selec- 
tion of Elegant Extracts, a short Analysis of Hebrew Poetry, 
and Translations from the Sacred Poets ; designed to illustrate 
the Principles of llhetoric, and teach theii" Application to Poe- 
try. By George B. Cheever. Boston, 1830. 

If we may form a judgment of the estimate in which 
poetry is at this time lield, from the general practice 
of the professors of the art, we shall certainly be led 
to believe, that its voice is as little regarded as that 
of wisdom. All the great living masters of the lyre 
appear to have laid it by, in order to labor in a lower, 
though perhaps a more productive field. It is now 
about fifteen years since Scott, finding his poetical 
popularity on the wane, and doubtless a little dis- 
mayed by the portentous brilliancy of another 
ascending star, gave up all his powers to a different 
department of literature, with a vigor and success 
that leave us little reason to murmur at the change. 
Campbell had forsaken the field much earlier, to 
employ himself in celebrating the merits of those 
whom the world had reasonably expected him to 
rival. The fine genius of Coleridge is bewildered in 
the dim twilight of his strange metaphysics ; Southey, 



STUDIES IN POETRY. 



\vitli untiring diligence, has explored almost every 
practicable path of prose, as he had previously left 
scarcely any thing unattempted in rhyme ; and Moore 
appears to have devoted himself to the task of erect- 
ing monuments to departed genius. This general 
abandonment of poetry, on the part of those who 
have cultivated it with the greatest success, is rather 
singular ; and seems naturally to imply, that it enjoys 
less of the public favor now than has been accorded 
to it in former times. Such, in fact, is the opinion 
of many, who believe that the world is growing too 
busy and consequential to attend to such light mat- 
ters ; that the active spirit of the age demands excite- 
ment of a different and superior character ; and that 
men would now hardly stop to listen to the notes of 
inspiration, even were they uttered by an angel's 
voice. In part, this opinion is probably well founded ; 
but it should not be forgotten, that we are very liable 
to error in forming judgments which result from a 
comparison of the tastes and dispositions of men 
a>t this day with those of generations which are past. 
The present is before us, Avhile the past is at best but 
very dimly seen ; and a disposition to complain of the 
prevailing taste is by no means peculiar to our own 
times. Goldsmith remarked, with ludicrous bitter- 
ness, that the world made a point of neglecting his 
productions ; and Akenside declared, that his opinion 
of the public taste would be regulated by the recep- 
tion of Dyer's " Fleece ; " but the one was in error 
as to the fact, while the other may be said to have 
been mistaken in the law. Even if the justness of 
these complaints be admitted, they would only prove, 



STUDIES IN POETRY. O 

that the most deh'ghtful music is at all limes heard 
with difficulty amidst the din and crash of the enginery 
of practical life. The spirit of poetry is still present 
Avith him who meditates at eventide ; with the wor- 
shipper of nature in her solitary places ; with the 
contemplative in their high and lonely tower ; with 
him who is rapt and inspired by devotion ; a -id, even 
if it be driven from the haunts of crowded life, it still 
speaks to the soul in tones as thrilling and divine as 
ever. 

While we admit that what is called the spirit of 
the age, though the phrase is too often used without 
any very distinct perception of its meaning, is not 
very favorable to the cultivation of poetry, we must 
at the same time make due allowance for the opera- 
tion of another cause, — the influence of perverted 
taste. What else could induce men to welcome the 
inferior classes of romances, tales, and novels, which 
are hourly poured forth from the press in multitudes 
Avhich no man can number ? To what other cause 
can we attribute the reception of stories of fashiona- 
ble life, written by those who are as little conversant 
with its recesses as with the court of the Celestial 
Empire; and which, if the representation were per- 
fect, could present no picture on which the moral 
eye would delight to dwell ? What but perverted 
taste could tolerate the audacious depravity of novels 
which would fain teach us to look for the beatitudes 
in the person of the assassin and highway-robber, — 
in which we are taught, that what men, in their 
strange ignorance, have deemed the road to the gib- 
bet, is only the sure and beaten pathway to honor 



4 STUDIES IN POETRY. 

and happiness and successful love ? A dark omen 
it will indeed be, if productions like these, on which 
the moral sentiment of the community ought to frown 
with deep, unequivocal, and stern indignation, shall 
permanently usurp the place of those which minister 
to the desires of our nobler nature. 

Upon looking back for a moment at the history of 
English poetry, w^e do not find many proofs, at any 
period, of a very just estimate of its object and excel- 
lences. To trace it beyond the reign of Edward III. 
is as hopeless as the attempt to ascertain the source 
of the Niger ; and, whatever may have been the cha- 
racter of the earlier chronicles and romances, there 
is no reason to beheve that it was at all propitious to 
the influence and diffusion of correct taste. The 
genius of Chaucer, like that of his great contem- 
porary Wickliffe, instead of being nurtured by the 
age, burst forth in defiance of it ; but the hour Avas 
not yet come ; and the poet's song was followed by 
silence, as deep and lasting as that which succeeded 
to the trumpet-call of the stern reformer. During 
the fierce civil wars, and until the reign of Henry 
VIII. there was no such thing as English literature. 
This was the period of the Heformation, and the 
revival of letters ; yet it presents us with few names 
which the lover of poetry is solicitous to remember. 
Love and chivalry have indeed given an interest to 
the melancholy genius of Surry, which is height- 
ened by the recollection that his unusual accomplish- 
ments were the only cause of his untimely and 
treacherous murder : but the poets of that time were 
little more than mere translators of the Italian : and 



STUDIES IN POETRY. 



Sir Philip Sidney, while defending poetry in general, 
is compelled to acknowledge the inferiority of that of 
his own country during the two preceding centuries. 
But the age of Elizabeth may well be considered as 
the era of its revival. This was certainly a period of 
high excitement, and distinguished for a bold and 
animated spirit of intellectual activity. Sir James 
Mackintosh has called it the opening scene in the 
political drama of modern Europe : it may, with al- 
most equal justice, be denominated the opening scene 
of English literature. The splendid genius of Greece 
was just restored to the world; the "earthquake- 
voice " of the Reformation had sounded through 
the vast of heaven ; and the mind had indignantly 
burst the chains of protracted and ignoble bondage. 
Every thing seemed propitious for the exhibition of 
freedom and vigor in every department of intellect ; 
and, in almost all, these qualities were signally dis- 
played ; but, with the exception of one venerable 
name, we find scarcely a single example of great 
excellence in any but dramatic poetry ; in which a 
degree of superiority was attained which has thrown 
the efforts of succeeding ages completely into shade. 
It is true, that powers of a very exalted order are 
required for success in the higher class of dramatic 
compositions ; but we can hardly consider that period 
as very remarkable for poetical excellence in general, 
which affords scarcely an example of any other. 
This direction appears to have been given to poetical 
talent by the taste of the court, the influence of which 
upon literature was subsequently very great. In the 
present instance, that influence, so far as it went, was 
1* 



b STUDIES IN POETRY. 

highly favorable : the only cause of regret is, that it 
failed to extend to other departments of poetry, which 
Avere then struggling into existence. 

At this time the influence of the Puritans began to 
be felt. They were a class who are hardly to be 
judged by the same rules which would be applied 
to the characters of other men in ordinary times ; 
and of Avhom it is somewhat difficult to speak in 
proper terms, either of praise or censure. We are 
not ashamed to say, that we look with admiration, 
and almost with awe, upon these stern patriots and 
martyrs ; ambitious, but to gain no earthly crown ; 
burning with enthusiasm, yet severe and immovable, 
as if inaccessible to human passion ; inflexible and 
haughty to man, because reverence was due only to 
the Most High ; despising all accomplishments and 
all learning, because they counted them as nothing 
in comparison with religion and the word of God. 
But the state of feeling and opinion which it was 
their great purpose to maintain was in some re- 
spects false and unnatural. While they labored to 
elevate the mind, the tendency of some of their 
efforts could be only to degrade it. They saw lite- 
rature prostituted sometimes to unworthy purposes, 
and they straightway denounced it all as an abomina- 
tion. One might almost forgive this prejudice, if it 
had been founded on the Avrilings of those who have 
been strangely denominated metaphysical, as if meta- 
physics were only another name for every species of 
extravagance. These Malvolios of English litera- 
ture, of whom Donne was the common father, and 
Cowley the anointed king, contented themselves 



STUDIES IN POETRY. / 

■with corrupting what the Puritans were anxious to 
destroy. Their writings appear to us to be a vivid 
delineation of the intellectual character and taste of 
King James, who, by a cruel insult to the wise king 
of Israel, has been sometimes called the English 
Solomon. They found the age pedantic, and they 
labored with eminent success to render it still more 
so. Never did poetry revel in such wanton extra- 
vagance and absurdity. With them, sighs were 
breathed in tempests ; tears were poured forth like 
the universal deluge ; love was nothing short of a 
coup de solell beneath the tropics ; pride was the tem- 
perature of the arctic circle, and a lover's heart a 
handgrenade. It is sufficiently obvious, that the 
taste for this extravagance was not created by those 
who thus employed it ; for the prose writings of 
some of them — of Cowley, for example — are full 
of simplicity, grace, and beauty. Indeed, the mere 
existence of the metaphysical style is a sufficient 
proof, that, if the readers of poetry at this time were 
not indifferent to it, they were at least not very scru- 
pulous in their selections. The most exalted eulogies 
Avere lavished upon Cowley ; and even Milton did 
not refuse to praise what he disdained to imitate. 
Signs of a more correct taste began to be visible in 
the languid smoothness of Waller, and the correct 
mediocrity of Denham ; but with what surpassing 
glory does the venerable form of Milton appear in the 
midst of an age like this ! His grand and melancholy 
genius was almost as far removed from that of his 
contemporaries as his immortal subject was elevated 
above all earthly things. So far from being indebted 



8 STUDIES I\ POETRV. 

to his age, he was beyond it and above it ; and it is 
hardly too much to say, that he would have been 
beyond and above any other in the history of man. 
It is no reproach to his own, that men heard his voice, 
and comprehended it not ; for what standard was 
there, among the poets of the time, by which they 
could hope to measure such elevation as his ? 

The stern rigor of the Puritans was at length 
followed by its natural re-action ; and the literature of 
the age of Charles II. was a faithful transcript of the 
character of that degraded sensualist, and still more 
degraded king. It is easy to conceive what the 
worshippers must have been in the temple of vice 
and folly, in which Sedley and Etherege and Buck- 
ingham and Rochester were chief-priests. " The 
fools of David's age," says Sir William Temple, 
" those who have said in their hearts, there is no 
God, have become the wits of ours." The personal 
character of a king is never without its influence, 
and in this instance it was all-powerful; but it was 
only for the purposes of evil. In the school of severe 
adversity, where the milder virtues are commonly 
taught, he had learned nothing but vice, disguised 
under the name of pleasure. Ridicule was the 
fashion of the day ; and the subjects of that ridicule 
were all things that are venerable and holy. De- 
pravity lost nothing of its evil, because it lost nothing 
of its grossness : it was tolerated in all its grossness, 
and adored in all its deformity. It was not surpris- 
ing that the want of just moral sentiment should be 
accompanied by the debasement of literary taste. 
Their tastes, as well as their fashions, were alike bor- 



STLDIES IN POETRY. 9 

rowed from the French, who returned the obhgation 
by regarding England as a nation of barbarians. 
St. Evremond passed twenty years in England with- 
out acquiring the slightest knowledge of the lan- 
guage ; while ignorance of the French language 
was regarded by the English as a greater crime than 
the violation of every precept of the decalogue. The 
worst defects of French literature were copied and 
exaggerated. Settle became a greater poet than 
Dryden, until the latter stooped from his mountain- 
height and the mid-day sun, to grovel in the dark 
recesses of a polluted theatre. The influence of a 
licentious court was visible also upon other minds ; 
degrading powers which should have been devoted 
to high purposes, and repressing every display of 
natural feeling by a general chorus of ridicule and 
scorn. 

In passing from this period to the beginning of 
the next century, we seem to be coming forth from the 
suffocation and gloom of the charnel-house to the 
fresh air and clear light of heaven. We shall have 
occasion presently to make a few remarks upon the 
characters of some of the most distinguished poets 
of that time ; and Ave will only observe here, that we 
have no knowledge of any period in English history, 
in which poetry was the object of more general re- 
gard than it was from the beginning until the middle 
of that century. The circumstances to which we 
have alluded furnish sufficient evidence that the po- 
pular taste has been often perverted ; but they give 
no evidence of indifference in regard to poetry, like 
that which is believed to prevail at this day. We 



10 STUDIES IN POETRY. 

call the present an age of great intellectual excite- 
ment, of keen and restless enterprise, and of deeper 
insight into hidden mysteries than any of which the 
record has yet come down. Why, then, should the 
purest and not the least elevated department of intel- 
lect be regarded with coldness and neglect ? The 
true object of poetry is to subject the senses to the 
soul, to raise the mind above all low and sordid 
purposes, and to fix its desires upon things which are 
honorable and hisrh. If we receive it with indifFer- 
ence and scorn, if we refuse to listen to its voice, the 
loss is ours ; we are casting away the surest means 
to lift our thoughts from the dust, the noblest instru- 
ment to elevate and purify the heart. 

The moral tendencies of English poetry are such, 
on the whole, as the friend of virtue has much reason 
to approve. There have certainly been ominous ex- 
amples of the degradation and perversion of exalted 
powers ; but the waters of oblivion have already 
closed over some, and will, sooner or later, overwhelm 
the rest. It is idle at this day to say any thing of the 
moral influence of Chaucer : we might as well enlarge 
upon the absurdity of the Koran. Spenser, however, 
continues to be read, though not, we apprehend, by a 
large class of readers. There is abundant reason to 
regret, that the tediousness of the allegory, which 
constitutes the story of the " Fairy Queen," should 
have withdrawn from it the public favor ; for it is 
the production of a mind overflowing with rich and 
powerful thought, and a fancy full of all delightful 
creations ; the beautiful ideal of chivalry, when chiv- 
alry was only another name for a combination of all 



STUDIES IN POETRY. 11 

the virtues. The poet appears to have forsaken this 
lower sphere to hold communion with superior be- 
ings ; and how could it be expected, that the friend 
of Sidney and Raleigh — those brightest spirits of an 
age not wanting in generous and lofty ones — should 
be insensible to the influence of their romantic senli- 
ment, as it was illustrated and personified in the 
moral beauty of their lives ? It was their influence 
by which he was led to devote himself, not to the 
study and description of man as he is, but as ro- 
mance and chivalry would make him. It was this 
which induced him, instead of producing a grand 
historical picture, to which his powers were more 
than adequate, to execute fancy-pieces only, glow- 
ing, indeed, with richness and beauty, but deficient 
in the interest and life which such talent, employed 
upon more propitious subjects, could not fail to be- 
stow. He chose a department in which many have 
failed, and in which scarcely any one but John Bun- 
yan has succeeded ; and how much of his power is 
to be attributed to the awful realities of his subject ! 
Still it is the praise of Spenser, that he consecrated 
his delightful harmony, his beautiful and not unfre- 
quently subhme description, and all the creations of 
an imagination of unrivalled splendor, and of inven- 
tion almost boundless, wholly to the cause of virtue. 
Would that the same praise were equally due to his 
far greater contemporary ! But Shakspeare wrote 
apparently without any moral purpose : he took the 
tales which ancient chronicles afforded him, or chance 
threw in his way ; and, by his inspiration, he created 
a hving soul under these ribs of death. If they gave 



12 STUDIES IN POETRY. 

him a moral, it Avas well. Now we hear strains 
which seem to flow from a seraph's lyre ; presently, 
those which the depths of vulgarity could hardly 
essay to rival. Moral dignity and disgusting coarse- 
ness, the loftiest sublimity and the lowest grossness, 
are occasionally blended together, like the hovels 
and palaces of a Russian city. Ingratitude is de- 
nounced — and how denounced ! — in the heart- 
rending agony of Lear ; the dreadful penalty of 
guilty ambition, and the keen anguish of late re- 
morse, are displayed with terrific power in Macbeth ; 
while in Hamlet we see only a spirit crushed and 
broken beneath a burden which it cannot bear, faith- 
ful to duty, but overmastered by the consciousness 
that fate has imposed upon it a duty beyond its 
ability to do. But who can point us to the moral 
purpose of " Romeo and Juhet," or the " Merchant 
of Venice," or of " Cymbeline " ? The heart, with all 
its high aspirings, its guilty depths, its passions, its 
affections, and its powers, was laid full and open to 
Shakspeare's view ; all the elements of incomparable 
genius, and every divine gift, were imparted to him 
with a liberality hardly ever vouchsafed by Provi- 
dence to man before : but he looked upon man and 
nature, without looking beyond them to the God of 
all ; and thus the mind which was formed for all 
succeeding ages, and compounded of all imaginable 
glories, astonished, instructed, overawed, and de- 
lighted men, without making them better. It is pre- 
sumptuous to say what Shakspeare might have been, 
when human eloquence can hardly adequately tell 
what Shakspeare was ; but we believe that he was too 



STUDIES IN POETRY. 13 

often induced by a fancied necessity to sacrifice his 
own superior thoughts to the influences of an age 
which "thought no scorn" of grossness, such as 
would sicken the purer, though not fastidious, taste 
of ours. The descent was not wholly nor always 
voluntary ; though the gratification of minds as far 
below his own as the sparrow's is lower than the 
eagle's flight, can hardly excuse the aberrations of 
an intellect like his. 

The moral influence of the drama has not in gen- 
eral been of the most exalted kind. The reason of 
this is not that it is incapable of being rendered full 
of instruction, or that it is in its nature at all inferior 
in this respect to any other description of poetry. 
On the contrary, there is perhaps no form of com- 
position in which the most elevated lessons can be 
brought more directly home to the heart, — none in 
which those sentiments, by which our minds are said 
to be purified, can be more impressively or forcibly 
displayed. It may thunder forth its warnings and 
threatenings with the awful energy of inspiration ; it 
may utter the burning accents of intense and over- 
whelming passion ; it may allure or terrify us with 
the solemn persuasion of real and living example. 
In these respects, it occasionally goes beyond other 
poetry, as far as the quivering muscles, the distorted 
features, and the convulsive agony of the victim of 
actual torture may be supposed to afford a more 
vivid idea of suffering than the marble Laocoon. 
The evil is, that, in holding the mirror up to life, it 
reflects all the images towards which its surface may 
chance to be directed. In the sister, but inferior, 
2 



14 STUDIES IN POETRY. 

arts of painting and sculpture, the human form is 
represented, not with its blemishes, not in its deform- 
ity, but Avith something of the purity of ideal perfec- 
tion ; and thus the representations of poetry, so far 
as respects their effect, should be adapted to the 
desires of the mind : they should present us, not with 
that which may sometimes be, for that would excuse 
all possible grossness ; but, in humble imitation of the 
obvious system of Providence, they should labor to 
exhibit virtue in all its loveliness and beauty, without 
throwing an unnatural gloss and attraction over sen- 
suality and vice. How often have men forgotten, 
that the only true object, and all the real dignity, of 
literature are lost sight of, when it is designed to 
charm only, and not to elevate ! It may be said that 
the purpose of the dramatic writer is to please, and 
his productions must therefore be adapted to the 
taste of his judges ; but the cause of any fault can 
hardly be pleaded as its apology. 

Passing over the dramatic writers, we come again 
to Milton. He stood apart from all earthly things. 
He may be likened to that interpreter of the mysteri- 
ous things of Providence who sits in the bright circle 
of the sun ; while Shakspeare resembles rather the 
spirit created by his own matchless imagination, 
which wanders over earth and sea, with power to 
subdue all minds and hearts by the influence of his 
magic spell. The poetry of Milton is accordingly 
solemn and dignified, as well becomes the moral 
sublimity of his character, and the sacredness of his 
awful theme. His mind appears to have been ele- 
vated by the glories revealed to his holy contempla- 



STUDIES IN POETRY. 15 

tion ; and his inspiration is as much loftier than that 
of other poets, as his subject was superior to theirs. 
It is superfluous to say, that his moral influence is 
always pure ; for how could it be otherwise with 
such a mind, always conversant with divine things, 
and filled with the sublimest thoughts ? Yet it has 
been sometimes said, that the qualities with which 
he has endued that most wonderful of all poetical 
creations, the leader of the fallen angels, are too 
fearfully sublime to be regarded with the horror and 
aversion which they ought naturally to inspire. He 
is indeed invested with many sublime attributes, — the 
fierce energy, unbroken by despair ; the unconquera- 
ble will, which not even the thunders of the Almighty 
can bend : but these qualities, though they may fill 
us with wonder and awe, are not attractive. His 
tenderness is only the bitterness of remorse, without 
end and hopeless ; his self-devotion is only the result 
of wild ambition ; and a dreadful retribution at 
length falls upon him, " according to his doom." In 
this exhibition of character, there is undoubtedly 
vast intellectual power ; but there is nothing redeem- 
ing, nothing which can Avin the soul to love. We 
dread the effect of those delineations in which crime, 
from which nature recoils, is allied to qualities with 
which we involuntarily sympathize : such portraits 
are of evil tendency, because, though unnatural, 
they are still attractive ; but great crime frequently 
supposes the existence of imposing traits of character, 
which may excite admiration without engaging sym- 
pathy. We are interested in Conrad, because his 
fierce and gloomy spirit is mastered by the passion 



16 STUDIES IN POETRY. 

which masters all, — because in him it is deep and 
overwhelming, yet refined and pure, Uke the token 
which restored the repenting peri to Eden, — the 
redeeming and expiatory virtue, which shows that 
the light of the soul, however darkened, is not extin- 
guished altogether ; and we do not ask how purity 
and love can find their refuge in a pirate's bosom, — - 
we do not remember, that they could as hardly dwell 
there as Abdiel among the rebel host. Not so the 
ruined archangel. In him all may be grand and 
imposing ; but all is dark, stern, and relentless. If 
there be aught to admire, there is at least nothing to 
imitate. Through all the writings of Milton, there 
reign a loftiness and grandeur which seem to raise 
the soul to the standard of his ovAm elevation. The 
finest minds have resorted to them for the rich trea- 
sures of eloquence and wisdom ; and they might also 
find in them the more enduring treasures of piety 
and virtue. 

We have already found occasion to offer some 
remarks upon the literature of the age of Charles II. 
It is a subject on which we have little inclination to 
dwell; but it is with sorrow and shame that we see 
the influence of such an age exhibited upon a mind 
like that of Dryden. They drove him to devote 
powers intended for nobler purposes to gratify the 
polluted tastes of a shameless court ; and, by a just 
retribution, his dramatic compositions can hardly be 
said to have survived him : not one of them is at this 
day acted, or generally read. We see him, first, 
embalming the blessed memory of the Lord Protector ; 
then, exulting in his Sacred Majesty's most happy 



STUDIES IN POETRY. 1 ' 

restoration ; next, fabricating rhyming tragedies to 
gratify the French prejudices of a king who was not 
ashamed to become tlie pensioner of France, or las- 
civious comedies to minister to the grovelling inclina- 
tions of the Defender of the Faith ; presently, descend- 
ing, like one of Homer's deities, to the field of 
political and religious controversy. Thus the intellect 
which was formed to illuminate the world Avas 
quenched in the obscurity of low or temporary sub- 
jects ; thus, with power to become a great reformer, 
he chose to follow in the track of vulgar prejudices ; 
instead of asserting his just rank as a sovereign, he 
made himself a slave ; and the result is before us in 
the fact, that his reputation is now almost wholly 
traditional, and would hardly be known otherwise, 
but for the noble " Ode for St. Ceciha's day." We 
are not insensible to the unsurpassed excellence of 
his versification, or the blasting power of his satire ; 
but the traces of elevated moral sentiment, and of 
admiration, or even perception, of the grand and 
beautiful in nature and in character, are rarely to be 
discovered in his writings. Perhaps he was cautious 
of displaying what must have excited the immea- 
surable contempt of the wits by whom he was sur- 
rounded. 

The beginning of the last century was distin- 
guished by the genius of Pope ; of whom nothing 
can now be said that has not frequently been said 
before. There are still many who persist in denying 
his title to the honors of the poetical character, with 
a zeal which nothing but the ancient penalties of 
heresy will be able to subdue. If, however, he has 

2* 



18 



STUDIES IN POETRY. 



been assailed by Bowles, he has found no vulgar 
champions in Byron and Campbell ; and if he were 
living now, it would doubtless, in the language of 
Burke, " kindle in his heart a very vivid satisfaction 
to be so attacked and so commended." It is not 
easy to believe him to have been the least among the 
poets, who could shoot with such unequalled bril- 
liancy into the upper sky, while Addison was still in 
the ascendant, and when the star of Dryden had 
hardly yet gone down. Nature was not, perhaps, 
always regarded by him with a poet's eye ; for it 
seemed then as if she was to be abandoned to pas- 
torals ; as if one might scarcely venture to go forth 
into the country, Avithout arming himself with a shep- 
herd's crook. But he was the poet of manners 
and of social life ; and it is not the smallest of his 
merits, that he made poetry famihar to thousands who 
had never felt its influence before. The tendency 
of his writings is precisely what might be expected 
from a knowledge of his character ; — a character of 
v/hich Johnson, whose praise issues forth like a con- 
fession extorted by the rack, is compelled to speak, 
in general, with commendation. Early and unre- 
lieved infirmity rendered him irritable, while the 
unbounded admiration which was so profusely lav- 
ished upon him made him vain ; and both these 
qualities are abundantly exhibited in some of his writ- 
ings, where the sins of his enemies are visited upon 
those who had never offended him, and character is 
wantonly invaded, apparently with the sole design of 
displaying his extraordinary power. In some in- 
stances, he aims to rival the unapproachable vulgar- 



STUDIES IN POETRY. 19 

ity of Swift ; but the wit is a poor atonement for the 
grossness. 

The " Rape of the Lock" was denounced by the 
frantic criticism of Dennis, as deficient in a moral ; 
while Johnson, with his usual politeness, thought no 
moral more laudable than the exposure of mischiefs 
arising from the freaks and vanity of women. It is 
obvious enough, however, that Pope, except in the 
" Essay on Man," and perhaps in his '' Epistles and 
Satires," had rarely any moral purpose in his view ; 
but it would be difficult to defend the morality of the 
verses " To the memory of an Unfortunate Lady," 
or of some of his imitations of Chaucer. We are 
often told, that satire is a powerful auxiliary of truth ; 
and there is no doubt, that, even while indulging in 
the gratification of personal resentment, or any other 
equally ignoble passion, the satirist may promote that 
cause by his denunciations of vice and folly ; though 
the effect will certainly be diminished by the mean- 
ness of the motive. But he is too apt to grow so 
warm in the cause as totally to overlook the higher 
object, in his zeal to overwhelm an adversary, or to 
take vengeance upon the world for the fancied ne- 
glect or injury of a single individual. In addition to 
this, he is often seduced by the popularity which is 
sure to attend invective against some fashionable vice 
or folly, of which the succeeding age retains no 
traces ; so that the fashion and the reproof soon 
perish together. His object may be a laudable one, 
though it will be far less important, and far less last- 
ing in its effect, than it would be if he should expose 
vice and imperfection as they exist universally, and 



20 STUDIES IN POETRY. 

at all times. The satires of Donne are now forgotten, 
notwithstanding the rich drapery which Pope thought 
fit piously to throw over his old-fashioned and some- 
what ragged habiliments. Those of Dryden, as we 
have already intimated, were founded upon subjects 
of local or temporary interest. His " Absalom and 
Achitophel" was levelled at a faction, which soon 
experienced the fate of all other factions ; his 
" Medal" was written upon the occasion of Shaftes- 
bury's escape from the fangs of a grand jury ; and 
his " MacFlecknoe," for the laudable end of extermi- 
nating his successor in the Laureate's chair. Young 
is less liable to this objection than any other English 
satirist ; but, great as was his popularity in his own 
day, his " Universal Passion " has sunk into obscu- 
rity. The " Vanity of Human Wishes " and " Lon- 
don" are the effusions of a nervous and powerful 
mind, more strongly tinctured with misanthropy and 
indignation than with sound philosophy. In our own 
times, we have seen Gifford marching forth with the 
port and bearing of Goliath, against a host of butter- 
flies, who naturally enough took wang at the din and 
fury of his onset ; and we have seen Byron also, 
visiting the coarse mahgnity of a single revieAver 
upon all his literary brethren, with a wantonness and 
injustice which he was himself the first to regret. 
We may thus perceive, that, if satire be the instru- 
ment of virtue, it is so often borrowed for other pur- 
poses, that virtue is not always able to employ it for 
her own ; and, when those other purposes have been 
accomplished, the benefit, if there be any, is not per- 
manent. The artillery may remain, but the foe has 



STUDIES IN POETRY. 21 

vanished. Some of Pope's satires are of universal 
and lasting application ; but the " Dunciad " is little 
better than a monument of wrath, erected in memory 
of departed and forgotten dunces. 

The English poetry of the last century was, upon 
the whole, more elevated in its moral tone, than that 
of any former period. It may be considered as a 
cause as well as an evidence of this superiority, that 
some of the most eminent writers at its commence- 
ment, who exerted a powerful influence over public 
t-aste and sentiment, were men of pure and unques- 
tionable character. Addison Avas then at the meri- 
dian of his stainless fame. He had taught the world 
a lesson which it was too slow to learn, that the 
attractions of wit and eloquence may gracefully be 
thrown around truth and vntue ; and that, in order 
to become a good and popular writer, it is not indis- 
pensably necessary to be an atheist and blasphemer. 
If he is deficient in the vigor and power of some of 
those who went before him, it should be remembered, 
that the character of his works was not in general 
such as essentially to require or to afford very full 
opportunity for the display of either. His main 
intention was to describe life and manners ; to apply 
the force of ridicule to the foibles and follies, as well 
as to the faults and vices, of social life ; to present 
truth and morality in alluring colors to those who 
had been previously disgusted at its stern and repul- 
sive aspect ; and it cannot be doubted, that, as far 
as the influence of a single mind could go, this object 
was successfully accomplished. The same praise is 
equally due to Richardson, whose name seems now 



22 STLDIES IN rOETRV. 

to be better known and more respected in other 
countries than in his own. One who is led by curio- 
sity to read his novels, though he cannot fail to read 
them with interest, and to admire the purity of the 
sentiment and the vivid delineations of passion, can 
yet hardly form a conception of then- popularity when 
they first appeared. Addison taught the intellect 
and fancy, and Richardson the passions, to move at 
the command of virtue ; the influence of both was 
great and extensive over the sentiments and taste of 
others ; and we cannot but think, that much of the 
superiority of the period immediately succeeding 
that in which they lived to that which preceded, in 
refinement and delicacy at least, if not in morality, 
is to be attributed to the example which they gave. 
It is true that the essentially coarse and vulgar minds 
of Fielding and Sinollett, abounding as they did in 
humor and vivid powers of describing life and cha- 
racter, did much to weaken the impression which 
Richardson had made ; nor was it owing to any want 
of effort that they failed to corrupt moral sentmient 
completely. But they were not successful ; and any 
one who will turn to Southey's " Specimens of the 
later English Poets " (we cannot find it in our hearts 
to ask a felloAv-creature to read them through) will 
be surprised to find in how few instances morals and 
decency were disregarded or outraged by the poets, 
small and great, of any part of the last century. It 
is impossible to speak of any considerable portion of 
them at length, nor is it necessary. We will barely 
advert for a moment to three of them, Avhose Avritings 
are at this time more generally read than those of 



STUDIES IN POETRY. Z6 

any of the rest. It may here be observed, however, 
that this period embraces very many names, particu- 
larly in the earlier part of it, of which England will 
long contmue to be proud. With all its variety of 
excellence, there is Uttle that savours of copyism or 
of aftectation. What can be more unlike than the 
mild sAveetness of Goldsmith, and the gloomy mag- 
nificence of Young ; the gentle pathos of Collins, and 
the homely strength of Johnson ; the classical ele- 
gance of Gray, and the native simplicity of Burns ? 

There are few who do not love to contemplate the 
two great masters of descriptive English poetry, 
Thomson and Cowper ; with whom we seem to 
converse with the intimacy of familiar friends, and 
almost to forget our veneration for the poets, in our 
love and admiration of the virtues of the men. Both 
had minds and hearts which were touched with a 
feeling of the beauty, and fitted to enjoy the influ- 
ences, of nature ; and the poetry of both Avas ele- 
vated, if not inspired, by rehgious veneration of the 
great Author of the grand and beautiful. The vicAv 
of Thomson was bold and wide ; it comprehended 
the whole landscape ; he delighted to wander by the 
mountain-torrent, and in the winter's storm ; and it 
seemed as if the volume of nature was open and 
present before him. It is not so with Cowper. His 
lowly spirit did not disdain the humblest thing that 
bore the impress of his Maker's hand ; he looked 
with as keen an eye of curiosity and admiration upon 
the meanest flower of. the valley, as upon the wide 
expanse, glittering in the pure brilliancy of winter's 
evening, or bright with the dazzhng glory of the 



24 STUDIES IN POETRY. 

summer noon. He made the voice of instruction 
issue from the most famihar things, and invested 
them ^vith beauty, hourly seen, but never fek before ; 
and he painted them all with the pure and dehghtful 
coloring of simplicity and truth. Who is there but 
must wish, that Burns had held communion with 
such minds, and resorted to the fountain of their 
inspiration ? We know not that he was inferior to 
either in quickness to feel, or power to describe, all 
that is bright and alluring in nature or in the heart : 
but there is something startHng in the dark and fierce 
passions Avhich overshadowed his better nature ; in 
the wild and reckless blasphemy by which he insulted 
man, and defied his God ; in the stunning notes of 
that frantic debauchery by which he was at length 
mastered, and brought down to the dust. The feel- 
ing of devotion steals upon hmi, like the recollections 
of earlier and happier years ; love, pure and disinte- 
rested love, subdues sometimes the fury of his soul 
to gentleness and peace ; his proud and manly spirit 
appears sometimes to burst its fetters, and restore the 
wanderer to virtue : but the effort is o\'er, and it is 
vain. He smks into the grave, friendless and broken- 
hearted ; and his example remains, like a light upon 
a wintry shore, whose rays invite us, whither it would 
be death to follow. 

We are unwilhng to enumerate Rogers and Camp- 
bell among the poets of the last century, though the 
great works of both were published before its close, 
and though the latter part of it is so far inferior to 
the first, in the number of its illustrious poetical 
names, as to require some such addition to the list. 



STUDIES IN POETRY. 25 

The sweet music of both is associated Avith our most 
pleasing recollections. The lyre of Rogers resem- 
bles an instrument of soft and plaintive tone, which 
harmonizes well with the memory of our early days ; 
that of Campbell is no less sweet, but deeper and 
more powerful, and struck with a bolder hand. Both 
are in strict and constant unison with virtue. Indeed, 
Avith one or two ominous exceptions, it is delightful 
to perceive the moral beauty of the poetry of this 
age in general. Moore, it is true, is an old offender. 
He appears to have composed the lascivious pretti- 
nesses of his youth much in the same manner as the 
unfledged votaries of fashion affect the reputation of 
grace and gallantry ; and Ave occasionally find symp- 
toms of love-making in his verses noAv, Avhich it is high 
time for a person of his years and discretion to have 
done Avith. It is the recollection of these Avhich goes 
far to diminish the pleasure Avith Avhich we should 
otherAvise Avelcome his sacred and lyric, song. But 
what shall Ave say of Byron, riven and blasted by the 
lightning of his OAvn relentless passions ; hurried on- 
Avard, often against the persuasion of his better feel- 
ings, as the sailor's bark in the Arabian tale is dashed 
by some mighty and mysterious impulse upon the 
fatal rock ? The light that was in him became dark- 
ness ; and hoAv great Avas that darkness ! His exam- 
ple, AA'-e trust, is destined rather to dazzle than to 
blind ; to Avarn, but not to allure. We do not noAV 
remember any other high examples of this moral 
delinquency. In WordsAvorth Ave see a gentle lover 
of nature, always simple and pure, and sometimes 
sublime, Avhen he does not labor to give dignity to 
3 



26 STUDIES IN POETRY. 

objects which were never meant to be poetical. 
Southey's " gorgons and hydras and chimeras dire " 
are well-trained ; and the minstrelsy of Scott is of 
a higher strain than that of the times of Avhich he 
sung. 

Literature, in reference to its moral tendency, is 
of three kinds ; one of which is decidedly pernicious ; 
another, indifferent in its character, being neither 
very hostile nor very favorable to correct sentiment ; 
and a thnd, decidedly pure and happy in its influ- 
ence. By far the greater part of English poetry 
appears to us to belong to the last of these classes ; 
but there are portions, and considerable portions too, 
which belong to both of the others. We seem hardly 
to have a right to claim, that it should always be 
actually moral ; and yet the writer who forgets this 
object forgets one of the great purposes for which his 
talent was bestowed. There is another error for 
which poetry is responsible, — that of presenting 
false vicAvs of life. Most young poets are as des- 
perately weary of the world, as if they had traversed 
it, and found it all vanity. We learn from a high 
authority, that misery is the parent of poetry ; but 
we should be led to believe, from the tone of many 
of our bards, that poetry is the parent of misery. 
Young proposed to draw a correct picture in his 
" True Estimate of Human Life." He published that 
part which represented it in eclipse ; but the bright 
side was unhappily torn in pieces by some lady's 
misanthropic monkey. In his " Night Thoughts," 
life is painted in no very alluring colors ; but the 
sunbeam breaks through the dark masses of the cloud. 



STUDIES IN POETRY. 27 

We do not complain of the satirists for this ; for such 
is the very end of their vocation. The views of hfe 
Avhich every writer presents will be colored in some 
degree by his own circumstances, and state of feel- 
ing ; but we suspect, that the most melancholy poets 
have not in general been the least inclined to enjoy 
the world in their capacity of men, and that they 
have often drawn more largely from imagination 
than experience. This fault, however, is not a very 
common one among English poets of the highest 
order. All their faults, indeed, are few and small in 
comparison with their great and varied excellences. 
We regard it as an extraordinary fact, that so httle 
attention has been paid to Enghsh literature in gene- 
ral by those Avho must be considered most competent 
to understand its value. Our systems of education 
make our youth familiar with that of early ages, and 
of other nations : an acquaintance with it is consid- 
ered indispensably necessary for every gentleman and 
scholar ; while little, comparatively very little, has 
been done to acquaint us Avith that which we may 
call our own, at the period of life when the heart 
would most deeply feel the beauty, and the ear be 
most sensible to the music, of the " LoAvland tongue." 
Until recently, no provision whatever has been made 
in our literary institutions, either to turn the attention 
of the student towards it, or to guide him in his vol- 
untary inquiries. In our schools, English poetry has 
been employed as an exercise for teaching boys to 
read, from time immemorial ; but nothing has been 
said or done to induce the pupil to believe, that the 
poetry was originally written for any other purpose. 



28 STLBiES IN POETRY, 

Now, without undervaluing the hterature of other 
countries or of antiquity, we believe that the business 
of education is only half accomplished, so long as our 
own literature is neglected. Within a few years, a 
better spirit has been visible ; but we are not yet 
acquainted with any treatise upon the subject of 
English literature, — any critical examination of its 
merits. The field is a broad one ; and we trust it 
will not long be justly said, that its treasures are 
within our reach, but that we have neither solicitude 
nor even inclination to gather them. 

We are pleased with this volume, both because it 
offers an indication of a growing interest in the sub- 
ject, and because the tendency of such works will be 
to excite attention tOAvards it. Mr. Cheever's selec- 
tions in general afford evidence of correct judgment 
and cultivated taste. We should hardly, however, 
have extracted the poetry contained in the Waverley 
novels, in order to give the most exalted idea of 
Scott's poetical genius ; or have given the " Soldier's 
Dream," as one of the best of Campbell's smaller 
productions ; and we think, that, in his selections 
from Southey and Moore, the compiler might have 
drawn more largely from the earlier writings of the 
one, and the "Irish Melodies" of the other. Nor 
can we readily admit the equity of the rule which 
allows to Grahana and Bloomfield twice the space 
which is allotted to Pope. But these are small blem- 
ishes ; and, after all, it is by no means certain that 
readers in general will not approve his taste at the 
expense of ours. The selections from most of 
the poets are accompanied by well-written and dis- 



STUDIES IN POETRY. 29 

criminating sketches of the characteristics of their 
style. On the whole, though the compilation is stated 
to have been made for the use of the young, it is one 
which persons of mature ag& may read with pleasure 
and advantage. 



3* 



30 



BYRON. 



Letters and Journals of Lord Byron. With Notices of his Life. 
By Thomas Moose. Vol. I. 

When Dr. Clarke, the traveller, was entering the wa- 
ters of Egypt, he saw the corpse of one who had fallen 
in the battle of the Nile rise from its grave in the ocean, 
and move slowly past the vessels of the fleet. It was 
with somewhat similar misgivings that we saw the 
resurrection of Lord Byron from the waves of time, 
which soon close over the noblest wreck, and leave 
no trace of the spot where it went down. Unless 
there were something new to be said in his favor, it 
seemed needless to bring him again before the public 
eye. The Avorld was as well acquainted with his frail- 
ties as with his transcendent powers ; the sentence 
of the general voice, which is not often reversed, had 
been pronounced, though with much hesitation ; he 
Avas declared entitled to a place among the great ; 
but, though he had the elements of a noble nature, 
no one, so far as w^e know, claimed for him a place 
among the good. We regretted, therefore, to have 
his name and character brought up again for judg- 
ment, unless for the purpose of vindication. Such 
is not the effect, Avhatever may have been the design, 



BYRON. 31 

of the volume before us. Mr. Moore, though he 
loved and honored Byron, has, in thus gratifying the 
public curiosity, rendered no service to the memory 
of his friend. 

We are disposed to rank high among the better 
feelings of our nature the one v^^hich leads us to spare 
and respect the dead, and makes us indignant at 
every attempt to draw their frailties to the light, 
which cannot plead necessity in its justification. 
We feel grateful to those who have delighted us, 
even when they have done so with their enchant- 
ments ; we are beholden to them for whiling away 
some of the drearier hours of existence ; and when 
they are gone, where our gratitude or censure can 
no longer reach them, we feel as if their memory 
were left in our charge, to be guarded from wanton 
condemnation. We could see their forms under the 
dissecting-knife at Surgeons' Hall with more patience 
than we can see their reputation made the sport and 
gain of mercenary writers. We know that the " Life 
of Johnson " is a standing excuse for authors of this 
description, though we see not why ; for BosAvell 
would sooner have cut off his hand, than have wil- 
fully disparaged his " illustrious friend ; " and through 
all his defects of judgment and style his great subject 
towers, like Westminster Abbey, whose melancholy 
grandeur is not destroyed by the meanness of the 
objects round it. In his work, there is no violation 
of that sacred law of human feeling, which, like the 
gentle process of nature, seals up the grave, and 
covers it with verdure and flowers. But this law 
has been sadly broken in the case of Byron ; a man 



32 BYRON. 

who, with all his faults, — and we have no disposition 
to deny them, — was never wanting in generosity to 
his friends. Some of them have preyed on his 
memory like vultures ; from the religious Mr. Dallas, 
who was dissatisfied with the gift of several rich 
copy-rights, down to Leigh Hunt, who intimated his 
independence of the commonplace opinion, which 
insists on gratitude for golden favors. Others, also, 
of the strange companions among whom the chances 
of his life and the waywardness of his temper threw 
him, retailed his most unguarded words and actions, 
subjecting him to a scrutiny which few men's lives 
and language Avill bear. But the public feeling, 
which is not apt to be permanently misled, had set- 
tled down into the conviction, that Byron, with all 
his failings, was to be admired and pitied as well as 
censured ; that he was an unfortunate man of genius, 
made up originally of strong powers and passions ; 
obHged to pass through the double trial of prosperity 
and misfortune, both perhaps equally severe ; and, 
by these disturbing forces, drawn aside from the 
orbit, in which, with a happier destiny, he might still 
have been shining as brilliantly as any great light of 
the world. 

Mr. Moore does not attempt to give any regular 
examination of Byron's character, aware perhaps 
that the thing was impossible ; for, if by character 
be meant the decided leaning of the habits and 
feelings towards good or evil, it would be no more 
correct to speak of his character than of the bearing 
of a vessel drifting on the sea ; or, if we mean by 
character the general impression received by one 



BYRON. 66 

who reads his history, it is evident that such an one 
could gather no single impression. Every change in 
Byron's life was a new experiment or adventure 
suggested by the moment's whims ; each new deed 
contradicted the report of the one that went before it ; 
like the mercury in the weather-glass, he varied Avilh 
the changes of the air. Sometimes he rose to a 
noble height of virtue ; then sunk low in degrada- 
tion : sometimes he breathed out noble sentiment in 
inspired language ; then profaned his lips with the 
dialect of hell : sometimes he practised a hermit's 
self-denial ; then gave himself up to appetite and 
passion. The very climate of the country where he 
happened to be, seemed to spread its influence over 
him. All his manhness melted away into effemi- 
nacy under an Italian sun ; all the strength of his 
mind and heart seemed to revive among the living 
shores and mountains of Greece ; and this, while it 
shows that he had great and active energies within, 
proves also, that, like others who want principles of 
action, he needed something external to excite them. 
In him, these principles, and the unconquerable will, 
were entirely wanting : the rough hands of others 
struck out the fire from his soul. His inconsistencies, 
arising from this cause, are equally perplexing to his 
enemies and admirers ; each falter in making up 
their judgment ; the former hesitate in the midst of 
their sternest condemnation, conscious that all was 
not evil, and doubtful whether they are not more 
just to his vices than his virtues ; Avhile his admirers, 
in the moments of their warmest enthusiasm, find 
recollections stealing over their minds which fill them 



34 BYRON. 

with indignant shame. They, too, doubt sometimes 
whether they are not misled by their reverence for 
genius, and hardly know whether they feel most 
sorrow for its perversion or wonder at its power^ 

The literary fate of Byron is a remarkable exam- 
ple of the indulgence shown to men of genius. The 
world is apt to be rigid enough in its exactions from 
others ; but it offers them a perpetual absolution for 
all offences, even for their waste of those powers by 
which it wishes and hopes to be delighted ; it receives 
these spendthrifts of talent with unwearied forgive- 
ness, however far they may have wandered ; it per- 
mits them, like conquerors, to trample on all rights 
and laws ; it finds something beautiful in their very 
scorn ; nations worship them in the blaze of their fame, 
and weep with mournful sensibility over their fall. 
We rejoice to see that the world can transfer its 
enthusiasm, in any degree, from military to intellec- 
tual greatness, and only desire that it may be careful 
in selecting its objects of adoration. In the un- 
guarded moments of rapture, it may place its honors 
on unworthy brows, and thus hold out an encourage- 
ment to all kinds of perversion. Intellectual men 
should read their duty, as Avell as triumph, in a 
nation's eyes ; and whenever, in their writings, they 
pass the limits of decency and moral restraint, instead 
of doing it with the confidence that great errors will 
be pardoned to great genius, should feel themselves 
driven back by a lightning-glance of indignation. 
When the power of the mind is growing so fast, it is 
of immense importance to make the feeling of literary 
obligation firm and strong, and to enforce it with an 



BYRON. 35 

authority which will neither be defied nor resisted ; 
and this can be done without difficulty, because men 
of taste, and poets more than others, have their intel- 
lectual being in the world's good opinion. The poet, 
more than all, needs this restraint of general opinion. 
The historian makes a slow and patient impression 
on others ; the force of the orator, except in subjects 
of unusual interest, is felt in a space hardly broader 
than the thunder-cloud of the storm ; but the works 
of Byron, like those of Scott, not confined to the 
bounds of their language, have been read, we have 
no doubt, by the northern light at Tornea, and by 
the pine-torch under the Rocky Mountains; and, in 
all the various regions between, made the wayfaring 
forget their weariness, and the lonely their solitude, 
bearing enjoyment to a milhon of hearts at once, as 
if by supernatural power. No human power can 
rival that of the great poet of the day ; and, should it 
become wild and lawless, no despotism under which 
the earth suffers and mourns is half so fatal to the 
interests of men. 

Perhaps there never was one to whom the right 
direction which the world thus has it in its poAver to 
give was more important than to Byron ; for, as may 
appear in Avhat we shall say of him, he was remarka- 
bly deficient in self-dependence, except when wrought 
up with passion : his irresolute judgment was strongly 
contrasted with his genius. Powerful, indeed, he 
was ; he came not at a time when the field of suc- 
cess was open ; perhaps there has not been a period 
when a greater number of bright stars were met in 
tiie heavens. Campbell was shining in the pure bril- 



36 BVRON. 

liancy of his stainless fame ; Southey was pouring 
out his wild and beautiful epics with a happy disre- 
gard of party censure ; Wordsworth was pleading, 
as he believed, for neglected nature, with a gentle 
and unregarded voice ; Moore was reposing, like an 
eastern sovereign in his sultry halls; at this moment, 
apparently most inauspicious for his rising, did this 
new and eccentric orb shoot from the horizon to the 
upper sky, and in every step of his ascension held 
men breathless with admiration, till his brightness 
" was changed into blood." But he seemed to take 
a perverse delight in trifling with his own power, and 
showing that he valued an imagination as splendid 
as ever was lighted in the soul, no more than a 
camera lucida or magic lantern ; and the world 
still deafened him with applause, even when he 
poured out strains of sensuality in music worthy of 
an angel's tongue. Nothing Avould convince men 
of his dishonor : they still believed in his integrity, 
as they insisted on regarding Napoleon as a friend of 
freedom, long after he had worn the crown. Let it 
not be thought strange, that we associate these two 
names ; for, great as Napoleon was, Byron was abso- 
lute and undisputed sovereign of the heart, — a region 
in which the other had no power. Byron could send 
to millions the highest enjoyment with a few rapid 
touches of his celestial pen ; and, while the throne of 
the oppressor is broken, he still exerts a mastery 
which grows and Avidens as the brass and marble 
decay. They were not wholly unlike in their des- 
tinies : deluded by the reverence of men, each 
became a suicide of his own welfare ; and, remem- 



BYRON. 37 

bering that they are great examples to all future 
ambition, we regret the less that they perished as they 
did ; though each might have left a glorious name, 
the one as the bravest warrior that ever fought the 
battles of freedom, the other as the greatest poet of 
his age. 

Any observer of human nature may be interested 
in the fact, that men are always most zealous in their 
enthusiasm for characters which are somewhat doubt- 
ful, as well as great. The admirers of a man like 
Washington criticize him with freedom, knowing that 
he can only gain by discussion ; but the partisans of 
eminent characters like those I have mentioned, as if 
conscious that any opening for inquiry would over- 
throw their favorite passion, meet every suggestion 
of the kind with an outcry precisely resembhng that 
with which the worm-eaten governments of Europe 
welcome every proposal of reform. This fervor is 
not so flattering to such men as is generally imagined : 
it implies that their admirers are far from being per- 
suaded of their real excellence, though they are 
resolute in maintaining their own opinion. This is 
illustrated by the passion for Byron. When he first 
became generally known, which was not till after 
his first cantos of " Childe Harold " appeared, his 
name was surrounded with a colored cloud of 
romantic associations ; and, perceiving the charm to 
be derived from the slight mystery then resting on 
his condition and character, he kept up the illusion 
by all the means in his power ; new portraits of him- 
self, in striking attitudes and drapery, were perpet- 
ually held before the public eye.; and by these means 



38 BYRON. 

lie inspired a deep feeling, not precisely of respect or 
regard, but of something more tenacious than either ; 
so that now his admirers hold fast iheir early opinions 
of him, as a lover clings to his first impressions ; deter- 
mined to maintain them, right or wrong, and resent- 
ing as a personal affront every attempt to exhibit his 
character in its true light. This book will give an 
unpleasant shock to their imaginations ; but, at the 
same time, they have seen his character in a glass so 
darkly, there is so little distinctness in their concep- 
tions of him, that, like the spirits in Milton's battle, 
his existence cannot be endangered by any mortal 
blow ; he is a vision of fancy in their minds, too 
unsubstantial to be measured ; their opinion of him 
is not a judgment, but a feeling, which neither argu- 
ment nor evidence can overthrow. 

But there are others who never have thought it 
necessary to give up their hearts to the great poet of 
ihe day ; who have neither taken part with Byron 
nor against him. To them this book will Avear a very 
different aspect : they will receive it as the deliberate 
testimony of a friend, of course as partial as truth 
and justice will allow, and will see with some sur- 
prise that the strongest feelings awakened by it are 
those of sorrow and shame. It is painful to see this 
disproportion between the moral and intellectual 
characters of distinguished men ; and, though history 
might prepare them for such disappointment, they 
are always dismayed to find those to whom Heaven 
has been most Uberal of its gifts, unfaithful in the 
use of them. Their kind feeling will be severely 
tried by this Life of Byron ; they will say of his 



39 



mind, as he did of Greece, that it is strange, that, 
Avhen natvire has formed it as if for the residence of 
the gods, man should take a mad dehght in making 
a Avilderness and a ruin. For, without overstating 
his defects, it is true that they will look in vain through 
this work for any traces of a sense of duty, either in 
the use of his social privileges or his intellectual 
powers ; they Avill see too much levity and profane- 
ness, Avithout wit or humor to cover its grossness ; 
they Avill see something offensive at times in the style 
of the biographer's apologies for him, when they are 
made, not as if necessary, but in deference to com- 
mon opinion ; they Avill find, that he Avent through 
the Avorld at the wind's pleasure, and that his path, 
though occasionally hghted up Avith flashes of good 
feeling, Avas not such as his friends love to remem- 
ber. In the natural regret for this Avaste of life and 
talent, they may chance to visit his memory Avith 
even more severity than it deserves ; and therefore 
Ave take the opportunity of referring them to one or 
tAVO circumstances, Avithout which his merits cannot 
be understood, and Avhich Avill show, that, Avith all 
his apparent felicity of birth and fortune, he Avas 
more to be pitied than condemned. 

The chief misfortune of Byron was his want of 
early kindness and instruction. The mind resembles 
a garden, in AA^hich floAvers and fruit must be culti- 
vated, or Aveeds Avill groAv ; and fcAv could be found, 
even among vagrants and outcasts, more unfortunate 
than Byron in the guardians of his tender years. 
His father Avas a worthless hbertine, Avho, after the 
death of his first victim, married Miss Gordon, the 



40 BYRON. 

poet's mother, with a vicAv to her property, which 
Avas large, but soon wasted. His great uncle, from 
whom he inherited his title, Avas a man of savage 
and unsocial character, who was beUeved to have 
murdered a gentleman in a quarrel. With him, 
hoAvever, he had no intercourse, nor even Avith his 
father, Avho was soon separated from his Avife ; so 
that he Avas Avholly abandoned to his mother's care, 
and a more injudicious guide of a youth so Avild and 
passionate could not have been anyAvhere found. 
It has been generally thought that she Avas fondly 
indulgent ; but the present Avork effectually clears 
her memory from any such imputation. She AA^as a 
woman of violent temper, and rendered still more irri- 
table by her husband's treatment, though she seems 
to have loved him affectionately after all her AA^rongs. 
If to leave her child ungoverned was indulgence, 
she Avas guilty ; but it could not be expected, that, 
having no rule over her oAvn spirit, she should be 
equal to the harder duty of governing her son. Ne- 
glect, however, Avas not the Avorst offence for Avliich 
she is ansAverable : she Avas the author of that bitter- 
ness of spirit Avhich made him, though at some times 
mild and affectionate, at others so sullen and fero- 
cious ; for it seems that she forgot herself so far as 
to taunt him Avith that slight lameness Avhich caused 
him so much misery in his after-years. Little do 
they knoAv of human nature Avho Avonder at his feel- 
ing. The truth is, that, in almost any young person, 
such vulgar allusions to a personal defect, hoAvever 
trifling, Avill aAvaken an excessive sensibility amount- 
ing to horror : all the self-torturing energy of the 



BYRON. 41 

i«oul will be concentrated on that single point ; and, 
if the Avound ever heals in the coldness of manhood 
or age, it leaves a quick and burning scar. This 
disease of the affections extended throughout his 
mind and heart ; and to this we are bound to attrib- 
ute that jealousy which occasionally seemed like 
madness, and that unsparing resentment of injury 
Avhich sometimes raged like a flame of fire. Know- 
ing this, we cannot wonder that he regarded his 
mother without affection, alone as they were in the 
world. At the same time, he discovers in his letters 
a respect and attention Avhich clear him from all 
reproach on this subject : she could expect nothing 
more of him ; for love is the price of love. Neither 
were the defects of his domestic education repaired 
by schools. His mother's poverty prevented her 
doing him justice in this respect ; and he was passed 
from hand to hand, with a view to save expense, 
rather than give instruction. None of his various 
masters had time to become acquainted with his 
mind ; and, without such an acquaintance with the 
tastes and powers of the young, teachers are often 
like unskilful gardeners, who destroy, by watering 
ill the sunshine, those blossoms whose habit is to 
close in preparation for a shower. None of them 
retained their charge long enough to gain an influ- 
ence over him. Altogether he had none to lean 
upon, and no worthy object for his affections to cling 
to, which is one of the greatest wants of the young 
and tender heart. This sufficiently accounts for 
many of his faults ; it explains where his careless 
desolation began ; it shows why he placed so little 

4* 



42 BYRON. 

confidence in the merit and affection of others, why 
he was so unbeheving in their virtue, and afterwards 
so indifferent to his own. It accounts for that mis- 
anthropy which some suppose was affected, but 
which there is every reason to suppose was sincere ; 
for, much as he depended on others, ardently as he 
thirsted for their applause, still, like all others who 
have no faith in human virtue, he held them in light 
esteem. Those who cannot live without the world's 
flattery sometmies despise the incense-bearers ; and 
the person who depends least upon others is not the 
misanthrope, but he who takes a -manly and gener- 
ous interest in all around him. Thus melancholy 
and disheartening was his childhood. Instead of 
being the gallant bark that Gray describes, standing 
bravely out to the summer sea, it was the one " built 
in the eclipse and rigged with curses dark," whose 
destiny was foreseen by the thoughtful before it left 
the shore. 

It may be said, that he might have done like many 
others whose parents have been unfaithful, and Avho, 
by this misfortune, have been driven to that self- 
education which Gibbon considers more important 
than any other. But Lord Byron was most unfavor- 
ably situated : this self-discipline is seldom enforced 
with vigor or success without the pressure of circum- 
stances, or the strong leaning of ambition combining 
with a sense of duty. But Byron was above the 
reach of that necessity which drives so many to great 
and fortunate exertions. Though poor in childhood, 
when his Avants were fcAv, he had before liim Avhat 
seemed a prospect of unbounded wealth ; and the 



BYRON'. 43 

same expectation of rank and honor made him in- 
sensible to the call of intellectual glory. He knew 
that his title would secure him respect, and in this 
confidence was unambitious of any thing higher : it 
seemed to be the brightest point in all his visions of 
future greatness. Those who, born in humble life, 
feel the stirrings of ambition, and have no path to 
eminence open but such as they clear with their own 
hands, enter upon the work with a vigor Avhich at 
once gives and strengthens character, and ensures 
success. Byron, on the contrary, believed from his 
childhood, that he should be respected for his rank 
alone : it was not till he had reached this great ob- 
ject of desire, and found how barren it was, that he 
seemed to Avish or hope for any other distinction. 

The effect of this want of education in mind and 
character may be seen in almost every part of his 
life, even in those illuminated pages which display 
the triumj^hs of his genius. He never seems to have 
had the least confidence in his own taste or judg- 
ment, with respect to his own productions or those 
of others. We find him, on his return from his first 
voyage, talking with delight of an imitation of Hor- 
ace, which his biographer is too conscientious to 
praise ; and, at the same time, hardly prevailed upon, 
by the most earnest entreaty, to publish " Childe Har- 
old," the work on which his fame is built. A taste of 
this kind is as much formed by society as by reading 
and meditation ; but he had acquired a bashful re- 
serve in his childhood, which prevented his reading 
the eyes or minds of others ; and yet, as the public 
opinion is the tribunal to which all must lx)w, he 



44 BYRON. 

never felt confidence in his opinions, till they were 
confirmed by the general voice. In his judgment of 
others, he seemed governed by the partiality of the 
moment. We find him speaking vv^ith delight of 
Coleridge's " Christabel," or praising Leigh Hunt's 
affectations, which he was the first to ridicule shortly 
after. The same wavering appears in his judgment 
of the " English Bards and Scotch Reviewers," — 
a Avork which he afterwards recanted, for no other 
reason than that his humor had altered. The entire 
history of this AVork of wholesale vengeance illustrates 
the indecision of his mind. In his first indignation 
at an attack which was certamly enough to irritate a 
meeker spirit, he forthwith drew his SAvord, and com- 
menced an indiscriminate slaughter of all about him ; 
but, as soon as the moment's madness had passed 
away, he began to bind up their wounds, at the same 
time exulting that he had made them feel his poAver. 
But the Avant of every thing like discipline Avas more 
plainly manifested in his character ; it was left to 
itself; so far as he ever had a character, it Avas 
formed by the natural and Avild groAvth of his feel- 
ings and passions. These feehngs and passions Avere 
suffered to grow and take their OAvn direction, Avith- 
out the least care or control from any hand. What 
affectionate instruction might have done, we do not 
knoAv ; the experiment Avas never tried : he Avas left 
to his OAA-^n guidance ; and, by feeding on extrava- 
gant hopes, he prepared himself to be hurt and dis- 
appointed by the ordinary changes of life. Never 
having been taught what to expect and Avhat he 
might reasonably demand from others, he received 



PYRON. 45 

every slight neglect as an injury, put the Avorst con- 
struction on every word and deed, and required of 
the Avorld what it never gave to any mortal man. In 
Scotland, his fancy was excited with tales and ex- 
amples of high ancestral pride. Rank became, in 
his eyes, something sacred and commanding ; and 
there was enough in the history of the ^yrons to 
encourage his loftiness of feeling. But he was morti- 
fied, as he came forward into life, to find that the 
respect paid to it was hollow and unmeaning. He 
was received into the House of Lords with as little 
ceremony as at Eton or Harrow ; and this, though 
probal)ly a thing of course, was resented by him as 
an unexampled Avrong, for which he insulted the 
Lord Chancellor at the time, and afterwards impaled 
Lord Carlisle in various satirical lines ; though the 
only crime of the former was, that he did not dis- 
pense with legal forms in his favor, and Lord Car- 
lisle's transgression, that he did not come at a call. 
He was still more painfully taught how little could 
be claimed on the score of rank, by the attack of the 
" Edinburgh RevieAv." He could not plead privi- 
lege before that bar ; a republican from the United 
States could not have been treated with less cere- 
mony than the English baron ; and it appeared in 
evidence, that, Avith a regard for principle, of Avhich 
that Avork has given more than one example, it 
abused the poetry for the sake of the man, though 
his ranlv AA^as all the provocation. He AA-^as also con- 
stantly AA'-ounded in another tender point, — his friend- 
ship. With him friendship Avas a passion, cherished 
for reasons Avhich he Avould have found it hard to 



46 



BYRON. 



assign ; in its objects, there was no particular merit, 
save what was generously given them by his active 
imagination. His little foot-page and his Athenian 
protege were of this description ; yet he expected of 
these and others, selected with even less discretion, 
all the delicacy and ardor of attachment which might 
belong to superior natures. He was, of course, dis- 
appointed ; and, by a process of abstraction, found 
sufficient reasons to libel and detest mankind. Thus 
in almost every year some favorite charm was 
broken, some vision dispelled ; he came forAvard into 
life, like one seeing from afar the family mansion of 
his race, Avith its windows kindled by the setting 
sun, and who, as he approached it, looking for life 
and hospitality Avithin, found Avith dismay, as he 
entered the gate, that all Avas dark, cold, and de- 
serted. 

Byron's melancholy seems to have been OAA^ing to 
these peculiar circumstances of his life. Bright hopes 
and painful disappointments folio Aved each other in 
rapid succession ; the disappointment being that Avhich 
attends the gratified desire, of all others the most 
difficult to bear. He Avas his own master, and had 
all that men commonly Avish for ; he Avas thus in a 
condition Avhere, so far as resources of happiness 
Avere concerned, he had nothing more to hope from 
the Avorld, and that state in Avhich any change must 
be for the Avorse is found by experience to be more 
intolerable than that in which any change must be 
lor the better. How far his depression was owing 
to any thing constitutional, we cannot attempt 1o 
say, being less acquainted with the nerves of poets 



BYRON. 47 

than with those of reviewers ; but we beheve that 
there are few cases in which the evil spirit may not 
be successfully resisted by a resolute will. Unfor- 
tunately, those unused to trouble, real or imaginary, 
become desperate at once, and are ready to tnake 
trial of any remedy to drive the moment's uneasi- 
ness away. By dissipation and violent excitement, 
they remove its pressure for a time ; but, as often as 
it is lifted, it returns Avith heavier weight ; and, at 
last, like the cottager who burns the thatch and 
rafters of his cabin to relieve the cold of a winter 
day, they are left without the least chance of shelter. 
To supply the vacancy of hope, they consume the 
materials of happiness at once, and then travel from 
desolation to desolation, having no resource left, but 
to become miserable self-destroyers of their own 
peace, character, and not unfrequently Kves. 

We regret to find the vulgar impression, that this 
melancholy was owing to his poetical talent, counte- 
nanced by such authority as Mr. Moore's : though 
he does not openly declare that such is his opinion, 
he intimates that faults and sorrows both were owing 
to " the restless fire of genius." This we believe to 
be one of the worst heresies in public opinion : 
beside being dangerous and misleading, it is unjust 
to the noblest of all arts. Were there no other 
young men of rank and fortune equally dissipated 
with Lord Byron, or did all the companions of his 
vice and folly share his exalted power ? Why need 
we assign more refined causes for his corruption 
than for theirs? And, more than all, why offer this 
immunitv to those who waste the talent which was 



48 BYRON. 

given to bless the world, which we deny to the infe- 
rior prodigals of wealth and time ? It is unquestion- 
ably true, that a quick imagination gives a sharper 
edge to sorrow, by multiplying, changing, and color- 
ing its images ; but it has equal power over images 
of joy, if the poet can be made to look upon the 
bright side ; and, as this depends on his own choice, 
we cannot sympathize with him very deeply if he 
insist on being unhappy ; we will not throw the 
blame, which belongs to himself, either on poetry or 
nature. It is time that justice in this respect were 
done to poetry. It is a full fountain of consolation. 
So far from being a Marah in the wilderness of life, 
there is healing in its waters. The greatest masters 
of the lyre have found delight in the calm and ma- 
jestic exertion of all their powers; and, while poetry 
doubles their happiness by its inspirations, it has been 
found effectual, from the days of Saul till the present, 
to drive dark thoughts from the soul. No man was 
ever more indebted to poetry than Lord Byron ; 
we say nothing of his reputation, though, without 
poetry, he would have left no more name than a 
thousand other lords ; but Ave consider him indebted 
to poetry for all the bright hours that silvered his 
path of life. That he was a miserable man, no one 
can doubt, who knows any thing of the effect of dis- 
tempered fancy and ungovernable passions : but, 
while he was wildly sacrificing, one after another, the 
resources for happiness which surromided him, and 
seemed to take an insane pleasure in seeing those 
treasures melted down in the fires of passion ; while 
he was surrounded by associates who were enough 



BYRON. 49 

to put to flight all those belter feelings which could 
not quite forsake him, even when he seemed most 
resolute to let them go ; while, in self-inflicted ban- 
ishment, his face was always turned toward his 
country, although he spoke of it with hatred and 
scorn ; while his wild, fierce, and riotous mirth only 
manifested the self-condemnation and torture within, 
he was indebted to poetry for fanning the embers 
of his better nature, for kindling up those flashes of 
manly and generous emotion, which, transient and 
wavering though they were, have been enough to 
secure for him the admiring compassion of the 
world. Nothing can extinguish this sacred light of 
the soul ; it is an immortal element, which floods 
cannot drown ; it often revealed to him the true 
character of his companions, and his own conduct, 
making him heart-sick of the scenes in which his life 
was Avasted, and the associates among whom he was 
thrown ; it led him to all the excellence which he ever 
knew ; and when, weary of degradation, he made 
one last effort, with his foot on the native soil of 
inspiration, to rise to his proper place among the 
sons of light, it was evidently owing to poetry that 
any thing worthy to redeem was yet existing in his 
soul. 

Equal injustice is done to poetry, by saying, as is 
often said in the case of Byron, that misery is the 
parent of its inspirations. Poetry is the work, not 
of circumstances, but of mind, — of disciplined and 
powerful mind; which, so far from being the sport 
of circumstances, makes them bend to its power. 
There is neither romance nor elegance in real dis- 
6 



50 BYRON. 

tress ; it is too real, oppressive, and disheartening ; 
the mind, so far from dwelling upon it, turns away 
with disgust and aversion. The person, in suffering 
of body or mind, no more thinks of the fine emotions 
his situation awakens, than the soldier, bleeding on 
the plain, who would exchange the fame of CsBsar 
for a drop of water to cool his burning tongue. It 
is true, that such a person often expresses himself in 
poetical, that is, in strong language ; but this is not 
poetry, which expresses a vivid imagination of the 
sorrow, rather than the reality, and implies a steady 
scrutiny of feelings, and a measuring of the depth 
and power of language, to which real suffering is a 
stranger. The whole advantage which a poet de- 
rives from acquaintance with grief is the same he 
might borrow from being present in a storm at sea : 
he could no more describe his emotions at the mo- 
ment when every nerve is strained and wrung with 
grief, than he could sit down to paint the sublimity 
of the tempest when the vessel lets in water at every 
seam. Afterwards he may remember the circum- 
stances, and recall the feelings ; and, if he do jt with 
judgment and selection, may affect the minds of his 
readers with impressions similar to his own. But 
he cannot do this till the fear and anguish are gone, 
or, at least, till he finds a consolation in the exercise 
of his mind, which makes him forget his sorrows. 
No stronger confirmation of this can be given than 
the lines addressed to Thyrza, which exceed all 
lyrical poetry in the language for the deep feeling 
which they express. They were addressed to an im- 
aginary person ; and the emotions, if he ever had 



BYRON. 51 

felt them, were, at the moment of writing, dictated by 
the fancy rather than the heart. While, therefore, 
we believe that Byron was melancholy in his tem- 
perament, we do not believe that poetry was either 
the cause or the effect of his depression. His sadness 
was owing to the circumstances of his life ; but, whe- 
ther natural or accidental, it must be admitted in 
extenuation of his faults, becavTse, even if accidental, 
it was formed at an early period by events over which 
he had but little control. 

Lord Byron never appeared in so interesting a 
light as at the time when " Childe Harold " had made 
him the gaze of every eye. This was the happiest 
and most brilliant portion of his life ; indeed, the only 
portion to which those Avords can properly be applied. 
Beside his literary pretensions, he had begun to as- 
pire to the fame of an orator, and had already spoken 
once or twice with promising success. But all other 
hopes were dimmed by his poetical triumph, and 
seldom has there broken on the eye of man a scene 
of equal glory. He had not anticipated this ; he 
had reproached himself with relying so far on the 
opinion of his friends as to give his poem to the 
press ; his success, therefore, was made more wel- 
come by surprise ; and when we remember, that, 
in addition to this, he had the charms of high birth, 
renowned ancestry, and uncommon beauty of per- 
son, it is not strange that the pubhc, with its English 
enthusiasm, should have been transported with admi- 
ration. Wherever he went, he was received with 
rapture ; nobility, fashion, even royalty itself, united 
in the general acclamation ; his natural shyness 



52 BYRON. 

passed for the absence of genius ; his constraint in 
formal society Avas taken for the coldness of sorrow ; 
his brow was supposed to be overcast by a melan- 
choly imagination ; his faults, so far as known, gave 
an air of romantic wildness to his character, though 
they were generally veiled by the clouds of incense 
that rose from every side, and gathered round him. 
Those Avho had suffered from his sarcasm laid their 
resentment by, and came manfully forward to offer 
at once their forgiveness and applause. Sensitive as 
he was on the subject of self, he had every thing to 
keep him in a state of perpetual excitement, delight- 
ful no doubt for a time, but calculated, when its first 
freshness was over, to bring more uneasiness than 
gratification ; and a poor preparation for that hour 
when the sounds of applause were to die away, and 
nothing to be heard but the murmur of condemna- 
tion, that reached him even across the deep. 

As we have said, he appears more amiable at this 
period of his life than at any other : for a time, he is 
at peace with himself and all around him. The ap- 
pearance of the " Giaour," and ihe compliments paid 
him by Jeffrey on that occasion, completed his exal- 
tation. But, while it is pleasant to witness the rejoi- 
cing of success, Byron's friends, had they known his 
nature, Avould have trusted but little to the promise 
of that hour. We cannot judge of a dwelling by 
its appearance when illuminated for a victory, nor of 
any character by the happiness produced by circum- 
stances, for such happiness cannot last ; and, when 
it goes, it leaves the heart more desolate than it was 
before. If the world's favor did not change, it was 



BYRON. 53 

almost certain that he himself would alter ; after living 
on this exciting element for a while, it would naturally 
lose its power ; the fountain, having been drained in 
the beginning, could not be filled anew ; and, as 
nothing less luxurious would satisfy his desires, he 
must of course return to his old state of depression, 
sinking low in proportion to the height from which 
he fell. Such was the result. We soon find him 
making arrangements for another voyage ; he seem- 
ed to anticipate the time when the popular interest 
should fail him, and therefore kept himself as much 
apart as possible ; still the change was to come in 
the order of nature, and it came first in him ; he 
grew weary of receiving, sooner than the world of 
giving, its praise. He says of Sheridan, " What a 
wreck is that man ! and all from bad pilotage ; for 
no one had ever better gales." The same might be 
said of himself at this time ; but the truth is, that no 
winds are favorable to those who are not made in a 
measure independent of circumstances by something 
firm within. When energy at heart is wanting, it 
requires a miraculous combination of circumstances 
to keep one good, prosperous, or happy. 

This brings us to Lord Byron's marriage and sepa- 
ration ; a piece of history which has long been pub- 
licly discussed, and with a freedom unusual in such 
leases. It was investigated perhaps with the more 
earnestness from its being carefully hidden ; but now 
the slight mystery that hung over it is removed by 
Mr. Moore's publication, and a statement from Lady 
Byron, which has followed it, and which reveals all 
the circumstances that the public are likely ever to 
5* 



54 BYRON. 

know. This is the first time she has ever appealed 
to the public against the charm of her husband's 
poetical insinuations ; silence was certainly the more 
<lignified course, and no explanation from her was 
called for ; the public feeling in the circle round them 
was all on her side ; and Lord Byron was visited 
with a sentence of outlawry, which made him an 
exile ever after. There was a stern cry of indigna- 
tion against him, which indicated either that the 
English fashionable world had been suddenly con- 
verted to rigid morality, or that his popularity Avas 
on the Avane ; and enemies of all descriptions, literary 
and political, took advantage of the moment to give 
him a fatal blow. The history of the separation, as 
given in this Avork, leaves a charge of duplicity on 
Lady Byron, which she did wisely to repel. He says, 
that shortly after the birth of her daughter she Avent 
to visit her parents ; they parted in the utmost kind- 
ness ; she Avrote him a letter on the Avay, full of play- 
fulness and affection ; and, as soon as she arrived al 
Kirkby Mallory, her father wrote to inform Lord 
Byron that she Avould never return. This Avas at a 
time when his pecuniary embarrassments had become 
intolerably pressing ; executions had been repeatedly 
in his house ; and for a Avife to choose this time and 
manner to leave her husband Avould inspire a natural 
prejudice against her, unless there Avere grave rea- 
sons to justify her apparent Avanl of sincerity and 
good feeling. 

Lady Byron explains her conduct, in a letter Avrit- 
ten to justify her parents from the charge of interfer- 
ing on this occasion. She states that she believed 



BVRON. DD 

her husband insane, and acted upon that impression, 
both in leaving him and in writing her letter, choos- 
ing the tone and manner least likely to irritate his 
passions. She states, that, had she not considered 
him insane, she could not have borne with him so 
long. She endeavored to obtain a separation; but 
the circumstances were not thought sufficient to 
make out the case of insanity. We are not sur- 
prised that such was her impression. Mr. Moore 
mentions, that Byron was in the habit of keeping 
fire-arms in his carriage and near his bed. Such 
extravagance was enough to excite her suspicion of 
his soundness of mind ; and there was nothing to 
quiet her apprehensions in his temper, Avhich was 
grown irresistible by long indulgence of self-will : he 
was wholly untaught to submit to those mutual con- 
cessions Avbich domestic happiness and harmony 
require. When we remember that his passions, 
which he himself describes as occasionally savage, 
Avere incensed by seeing his house repeatedly in pos- 
session of officers of the law, no wonder that all 
should have seemed like madness to her even spirit 
and uniform feelings. 

We do not know how any one acquainted with 
the history of their attachment could have antici- 
pated any other result. The first mention of Lady 
Byron is found in the " Journal : " — 

" A very pretty letter from Annabella, which I answered. 
What an odd situation and friendship is ours ! without one spark 
of love on either side, and produced by circiimstances which in 
general lead to coldness on one side, and aversion on the other. 
She is a very superior woman, and very little sjDoiled, which is 



56 BYRON. 

strange in an heiress, a girl of twenty, a peeress that is to be in 
her own right, an only child, and a savante, who has always had 
her own way. She is a poetess, mathematician, metaphysician, 
and yet very kind, generous, and gentle, with very little pre- 
tension." — p. 331. 

Here, it seems, there was no love on either side. 
He says,, in another place, " A wife would be the 
salvation of me ; " and this Mr. Moore explains by 
his conviction, that " it was prudent to take refuge 
in marriage from those perplexities which form the 
sequel of all less regular ties." These are ominous 
words. He offered himself at that time to Miss Mil- 
banke, and was rejected : " on neither side was love 
either felt or professed." " In the meantime, new 
entanglements, in which his heart was the willing 
dupe of his fancy and vanity, came to engross the 
young poet ; and still, as the usual penalties of such 
pursuits followed, he found himself sighing for the 
sober yoke of wedlock, as some security against their 
recurrence." Such is his friend's account of the 
reasons of this connection. Some time after this, a 
friend advised him to marry ; to which he assented, 
" after much discussion." He himself was for an- 
other application to Miss Milbanke ; but his friend 
dissuaded him, on the ground that she was learned, 
and had then no fortune. He at last agreed that his 
friend should write a proposal to another lady : it 
was rejected. " You see," said Lord Byron, " that 
Miss Milbanke is to be the person." He immediately 
wrote to her; and his friend, reading what he had 
written, said, " This is really a very pretty letter : it 
is a pity it should not go." " Then it shall go," said 



BYRON. O / 

Lord Byron. It went ; and the offer was accepted. 
In this way, the most important action of his life was 
done. He said, "I must of course reform ; " and, 
with this shadow of a resolution, he went through 
the ceremony in a kind of thoughtless heaviness, 
which he was at no pains to conceal. What induced 
Lady Byron to risk her happiness in such an adven- 
ture, we cannot tell, unless she was ambitious of the 
glory of reforming such a man. If so, she did her 
part, by his own acknowledgment. 

" I do not believe, and I must say it, in the dress of this bitter 
business, that there ever vs^as a better, or even a brighter, kinder, 
more agreeable, or more amiable being than Lady B. I never had, 
nor can have, any reproach to make her while with me." 

Such hopes are invariably disappointed : their only 
chance of success consists in a strong hold upon the 
affections, which she never had on his. Such a mar- 
riage-contract, like the book of some ancient prophet, 
was written, within and without, with lamentation, 
mourning, and woe. 

Mr. Moore is inclined to attribute all this to the 
incapacity of men of genius to enjoy domestic peace. 
He forgets I hat, in defending his friend, he does 
injustice to talent, as well as to Him Avho gave it. 
Examples may be found among poets of such unfor- 
tunate marriages ; but there is no connection of cause 
and effect between their genius and their guilt or 
calamity, which ever it may be. We do not believe 
a single word of his refined speculation on this sub- 
ject. We cannot believe that poetical inspiration, 
that glorious gift of God, can ever be a curse to its 
innocent possessor. Like every thing else, it may 
be abused ; and then the greater the power, the wider 



58 



BYRON. 



Avill be the destruction. But there is no tendency to 
abuse in its nature. There is no need of giving the 
reins to imagination. Where this power is strong, 
the judgment, if encouraged, will be strong in full 
proportion, and, if taught to do its office, will keep 
the fancy from excesses as well as the passions. So 
far from giving even a distaste for reality, it will give 
a charm to reality, by surrounding it with elevating 
associations ; it will raise its possessor above the com- 
mon level of life, not too high to see all things dis- 
tinctly, and yet so high that he can look over and 
beyond them. Man is made lord of all his passions, 
invested with power over all the elements of his 
nature. He may keep or he may resign it ; he may 
cast the crown from his head ; he may make himself 
the slave of those affections which he is bound to go- 
vern ; but let him not libel his nature, for he makes 
himself Aveak when Heaven meant him to be strong ; 
he sinks himself into degradation and sorrow where 
Providence would never have placed him. The fault 
is all in his own infirmity of purpose and Avill. 

We shall not probably have another opportunity 
of speaking of Lord Byron ; and we cannot leave 
the subject without saying a word of his writings. 
His name has now become historical, and his works 
are registered in the treasures of English poetry. 
Now, if ever, they can be fairly judged. The enthu- 
siasm in favor of the writer has nearly died away ; 
and, as usual in cases of re-action, begins to be suc- 
ceeded by an indift'erence which is more fatal than 
any other infliction to a poet's fame. His works are 
not so much read at present as they will be some 
years' hence, when what is obscure and prosaic about 



BYRON. 59 

them will be passed by, the grosser parts dismissed 
to oblivion, and that which is great and excellent be 
read with an unmingled pleasure, which his readers 
cannot now enjoy. 

" Childe Harold" is his most important work, and 
on this and his lyrical poems his fame must ultimately 
depend. It was a secret outpouring of his soul, 
deeply colored by his peculiar genius and feeling. 
It bears no marks of that constraint and adaptation 
produced by a consciousness that the public eye was 
upon him. The Childe is a character sufficiently 
natural ; and the feelings embodied in it by the poet, 
allowing for a little overstatement, nearly resembled 
his own. It was a happy imagination to represent 
only the mqre striking scenes, such as would be 
likely to fix the attention of an uninterested wanderer. 
It affords an excuse for passing over what is unsuiled 
to poetical description, and for giving bold relief to 
such as could kindle the vacant pilgrim's heart and 
eye. All about the poem, even its abruptness and 
disorder, is brought into keeping, so that irregularity 
becomes a beauty. 

But the character of the Childe was so successful, 
and he was so much flattered by its being taken for 
a likeness of his own, that, instead of imagining new, 
he was tempted to draw it again. In the " Giaour," 
" Corsair," and other poems, he multiplies copies of 
this original ; but, in attempting to give them ad- 
ditional effect, he has gone beyond the bounds of 
truth and nature. We can imagine some good feel- 
ings lingering in the ruins of a libertine's character, 
and reviving when his heart is moved to tenderness ; 



CO BYRON. 

but to transfer the same affections to pirates and 
murderers is so shocking to probability, that none 
but very young readers can be interested. It is sur- 
prising that he should not have felt, that to ascribe 
habitual good feeling to such a character is quite as 
unnatural as to imagine good men living in the 
practice of robbery and murder. Still these works 
abound in traits of great loveliness and power ; and, 
though they did not injure his fame, could not pre- 
vent its natural decline, — a decline which must 
come unless every new effort of a poet transcend the 
last. It was an indifference which he could not well 
bear. Though he constantly declared his weariness 
of the world and the men of it, he could not endure 
that the world should grow weary of him. 

We must say that we consider some of his lyrical 
poems as the finest in the language. The deep feel- 
ing which he delighted to express was belter suited 
to short pieces than to long poems. For, though in 
a poem such passages occur at times with startling 
effect, they give the humble aspect of prose to all 
that comes between. But many of them are out of 
the reach of criticism or of praise. The allusions 
to lost friends which close the two first cantos of 
" Childe Harold " never will be read without emo- 
tion. His " Night before Waterloo " will make 
hearts thrill longer than the victory, and his " Thun- 
der-storm in the Alps " will be remembered as long 
as thunders roll. 

We are bound to say of this work, that the moral 
tone is not what it should have been. Not that the 
Avriter endeavors to conceal Lord Byron's faults — 



BYROX. 61 

he tells them without reserve ; nor that he flatters 
the moral character of his subject. So far as he had 
any clear conceptions of a character so unformed, 
he gives them with great impartiality. But he speaks 
of vices at times with a hght and careless air, as if 
they were harmless if not discovered. Still the mo^ 
ral effect of his work Avill not be so unfavorable as 
might be feared ; for, beside that it is not likely to 
be popular, envy is the very last feeling which his 
account of Lord Byron Avould inspire. Never was 
there a more striking picture of a man splendidly 
unhappy ; weak in character, though mighty in his 
powers ; solitary as a hermit, though born to rank 
and fortune ; wandering without pleasure, and repos- 
ing without rest ; admired by millions, and loved by 
very few ; able to move the spirit of nations, and 
himself like the great ocean lifted and broken by 
gales that would not have agitated humbler waters. 
We freely confess, that we read his history with 
compassion ;• feeling as if one who was never directed 
in the right way could hardly be said to have wan- 
dered. But no such feelings can deceive us into an 
approbation of his character : we hold him up as 
a warning, not as an example. We might have 
waited for the conclusion of this " Life," but for 
various reasons thought it better to notice the first 
volume. There can be nothing to make us regret, 
that we have done so in the registry yet to come. 
His hopeless fall began after his separation from his 
wife, and his retreat from England. We have fol- 
lowed him to the edge of the cataract, and have no 
disposition to see him dash below. 
6 



62 



AMERICAN FOREST-TREES, 



Sylva Americana. By D. J. Bkowne. Boston, 1831. 

The word Bylva can never be pronounced without 
recalling the memory of Evelyn, who, retired and un- 
ambitious as he was, has long been numbered among 
the benefactors of mankind. It was no small ser- 
vice to recommend the cultivation of ornamental 
trees, as a happy and elevating employment for men 
of leisure and fortune- Many a desolate village has 
been covered with beauty, and many a fiery street 
of the city shaded, in consequence of the enthusiasm 
inspired by his memory and example, ' Much, too, 
has been added to the glory of the visible world and 
the sources of philosophical contemplation, by taking 
these lords of the forest from their retirement, and 
placing them before the eye ; for what nobler object 
can there be than a tree which has battled with the 
storms of ages, and still calmly waves from it the 
assault of the mightiest gales, standing in lofty inde- 
pendence, and throwing wide its protecting arms, as 
if it were offering shelter and shade to generations 
yet to come ? It is true, there are many to whom 
they would have little value, if regarded merely as 
materials and suggestions of thought ; but there are 



AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 63 

none to whom their usefulness does not make them 
important. Man must resort to them to build and 
furnish his dwelling, and then solicit their friendly 
shield to defend him from the summer sun. In 
winter he must resort to them again ; and they are 
ready to cast away their verdure " to let in the sun, 
and to light up his dwelling with their cheerful fires," 
like feudal vassals, willing either to live or die in the 
service of their chief. Even nations also are com- 
pelled to lean their mighty arms for support upon 
the neglected trees of the wood. The oaks which 
Evelyn planted aided to bear the thunder of Eng- 
land in the bright chain of victories which ended at 
Trafalgar. It is consoling to think how much can 
be done by men in private stations for the benefit of 
their country and mankind. They are apt to feel as 
if their power was too limited to carry any responsi- 
bility with it ; as if their voice died away upon the 
air when they spoke, and they could give no impulse 
beyond the reach of their arm ; and yet here is an 
example of a man of private station and moderate 
fortune, who lived two centuries ago, and who is 
still successfully exhorting men to make themselves 
useful and happy in the way which he recommends, 
so that his advice and example are still forming 
characters, inspiring labors, and securing services to 
mankind which would otherwise be wholly lost. We 
should be glad to know the name of the statesman of 
that age, of any party, Cromwell or Clarendon, 
whose influence is thus felt at the present day, either 
in the world at large, in his own country, or in any 
human breast. 



64 AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 

In this country, the example of Evelyn is likely to 
do more in future than in his own, unless some great 
change takes place in the internal condition of Eng- 
land. We are told, that, ten years ago, there were but 
twenty thousand landholders in England, setting aside 
the clergy and corporations. The mere tenants at will 
have no interest or ambition to plant trees, without 
the hope that their descendants will sit under the 
shade ; or, rather, the reflection that they have no spot 
of ground which they can call their own prevents 
their taking an interest in any kind of improvement. 
In this country the state of society is as different as 
possible : there are hardly twenty thousand in any 
territory of equal extent with England, who are not 
proprietors of land, or freeholders. There, the nobil- 
ity and gentry, if they chance to be men of taste, 
are too much engrossed with politics or the pleasures 
of the capital, to find much gratification in pursuits 
of this kind : there are some Avho set a worthy ex- 
ample, but there cannot be many to follow it. The 
success of Sir Henry Stuart, in Scotland, who con- 
verted a barren heath into a noble forest, might 
strike the imagination of thousands ; but the great 
proportion of those who would be most desirous to 
imitate him would probably be those Avho were not 
proprietors of land sufficient for a grave. Owing to 
our different circumstances, we are confident that 
such^ writers will do more for this country than their 
own. Our climate is more favorable to this kind of 
vegetation ; we need it to generate and preserve mois- 
ture, and to shelter us from our summer suns, which 
burn v\^ith fiercer heat ; we have more room to alloAv 



AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 65 

them, and our forests are so crowded that there is 
less temptation to hew it doAvn for the fires. But all 
such considerations are less effectual than the pride 
which every man feels in his own paternal acre. 
Even if he have but one, he desires to have it such 
as to attract the passing stranger's eye, and to bear a 
comparison with the estate of his richer neighbor in 
taste and beauty. 

We speak of the natural tendency to improve- 
ment : Ave do not mean to say that this taste is by 
any means universal, even in this portion of our 
land. The suggestion of Cicero, that every man 
thinks he can live a year, is true here as well as 
elsewhere. He is therefore willing to plant his field 
or garden, from which he can reap the fruit, Avhile 
he feels less inducement to plaiit trees which he may 
never live to enjoy. We have inherited little taste 
of this kind from our fathers. Besides that their 
whole life was a warfare Avith the forest, and that 
land was not considered cleared till it was bare as 
the sea-shore, it was evidently no particular object 
for them to cultivate trees near their mansions, as a 
convenient stalking-horse for the Indian marksman. 
Their children, as a matter of course, followed their 
example, though the necessity for it no longer ex- 
isted. Even now, the pioneer of civilization begins 
his improvements, as he calls them, by cutting down 
every tree within gun-shot of his dwelling ; and 
when, at length, overpowered by the solicitations of 
his wife or daughter, he reluctantly proceeds to plant, 
the result of his labors appears in a few long leaf- 
less poles, standing in solemn uprightness waiting 

6* 



66 



AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 



for the miracle of Aaron's rod. But it is sufficiently 
evident that a better taste is growing among us, 
owing partly to the exertions of individuals, and 
partly to the natural tendency of growing prosperity 
and ambition. Our forests offer us treasures, such 
as few lands can rival, and none possibly exceed. 
We are told that in the United States there are one 
hundred and forty species of forest-trees of the larger 
size ; while in France there are but thirty of the 
same description, of which eighteen enter into the 
composition of the forests, and seven only are em- 
ployed in building. The wild splendor of our woods 
in autumn, their green lights and shadows in spring, 
the heavy grandeur of their evergreen masses with 
the snow above them in winter, or the fine outline 
of their naked arms against the sky, never fail to 
strike the most careless observer of nature. Interest 
follows the first emotions of surprise ; that interest 
deepens as he becomes acquainted with the won- 
drous revelations which science opens in every plant 
that the earth bears, and his natural impulse is to 
surround himself with these noble works of heaven. 
And this is easily accomplished; for though, as Eve- 
lyn says, " the aspen takes it ill to have his head cut 
off"," this is not the case with most other trees, Avhich 
submit to the operation with perfect indifference, and, 
even after being mangled in root, branch, leaf, and 
floAver, will flourish and reward the hand that trans- 
plants them. Or, if his native trees are too common 
to be beautiful in his eyes, he has only to send to 
foreign countries; and, as there are few trees like 
the home-sick palm-tree, which " will not quit its 



AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 67 

place of birth," they will come, regardless of the 
voyage, and grow contentedly in a climate very dif- 
ferent from their own. This interest, so easily satis- 
fied, when once awakened is not likely to decline ; 
and this labor is suited to prevail extensively, be- 
cause, like virtue, it is its own direct, immediate, and 
sufficient reward. 

But, apart from the interest which an employment 
of this kind easily and naturally awakens, these 
objects acquire a strong hold on the affections : man 
learns to love his contemporary trees. We have 
often thought that the mysterious feeling awakened 
in the Swiss soldiers by hearing the E-anz des 
Vaches was owing to the distinctness with which 
the strong features of their native scenery were 
impressed upon their minds : the frowning rock, the 
dashing river, the cloudy ridge, were clear and visible 
forms in their memory ; and the breath of a song was 
sufficient to touch the delicate spring, and make the 
whole vision start up into their souls. In the same 
way, the memory of the absent fastens itself to the 
tree which shaded his father's door, which still retains 
all its greenness in his imagination ; though the chil- 
dren who once played in careless happiness beneath 
it have long since been separated, both in place and 
heart, and the aged man who sat in his arm-chair, 
looking thoughtfully upon them, has long ago rested 
in the grave. We may anyAvhere observe, that 
natives of places which have any remarkable objects 
of this kind feel a stronger local attachment, more 
pleasure and pride in their home, and far more inter- 
est in public improvement, than those who have ^lo 



68 AMERICAN FOREST-TREESi 

such landmarks for the memory : for example, the 
elm on the common of our city, which is said to have 
been carried there on a man's shoulders in 1721, is 
now not more deeply covered with foliage than with 
venerable and pleasing associations. 

The fact is, that these must be the monuments of 
our country. Mrs. Trollope, disappointed at ' not 
meeting with Parisian manners in our western steam- 
boats, looked out for baronial castles upon the Alle- 
ghany mountains, and was indignant to find that no 
such vestiges of civihzation appeared. Doubtless we 
should rejoice to have them ; but, since the privilege 
is denied us, we do as well as we can without them. 
But this defect, great and serious as we confess it is, 
cannot reasonably be charged upon popular institu- 
tions ; and the pious thankfulness which she expresses 
at being delivered from republicanism is like that of 
a soldier in our late Avar, who, when shot through 
his high military cap, remarked that he was -devoutly 
grateful that he had not a low-crowned hat on, as in 
that case the ball would have gone directly through 
his head. These things are evidently chargeable to 
circumstances over which we have no control. And 
yet, had we such ornaments on every height, we 
fear that too many who regard comfort more than 
taste would remark, like her countryman at E-ome, 
that " the ruins were much in need of repair." But 
we must endeavor to prepare ourselves against the 
coming of all future Trollopes, by providing such 
monuments as our forlorn condition admits, not such 
as the elements of nature waste, but such as they 
strengthen and restore. Almost all other monuments 



AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 69 

leave us in doubt whether to regard them as memo- 
rials of glory or of shame. The Chinese wall is a 
monument of the cowardice and weakness of those 
who raised it : they built Avails, because they wanted 
hearts, to defend their country. The Pyramids of 
Egypt are monuments certainly of the ignorance, 
and most probably of the superstition, of their build- 
ers ; the cathedrals are monuments of a corrupt reli- 
gion ; and the same baronial castles, the want of 
which we never deplored till now, are monuments 
of a state of society in which every thing was bar- 
barous, and are witnesses, by their still existing, that 
the art of war, the only science thought worth regard- 
ing, Avas but Avretchedly understood. To us it seems 
that Chaucer's oak and Shakspeare's mulberry-tree, 
the oak of Alfred at Oxford, and the one in Torwood 
Forest, under which Wallace first gathered his fol- 
lowers in arms, are as worthy and enduring memo- 
rials of great names and deeds as any that can 
be heAvn from the rock, and built by the hands of 
men. The tower, as soon as it is completed, begins 
to decay ; the tree, from the moment Avhen it is 
planted, grows firmer and stronger for many an age 
to come. 

We are the more earnest to recommend this cul- 
tivation to our readers, because in this country it can 
seldom be more than an incidental employment : 
there are fcAV so situated as to be able to make it the 
great business of their lives. We are often told that 
this was the employment of man in paradise : it was 
so ; but those who say it should remember, that the 
air of paradise did not prove favorable to moral 



70 AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 

energy and virtue : it was made clear, in the case of 
our first parents, that a state of peaceful enjoyment 
and unmixed prosperity will never answer for man. 
He must have labor of body and mind ; he must 
have duties and trials ; he must associate with his fel- 
lows, in the race with the swift, and the battle with 
the strong ; he must have his powers unfolded in the 
broad sunshine of social life, and his feelings discip- 
lined by those disappointments and sorrows Avhich 
abound in the places where man contends with man, 
before he can ever become that useful, happy, and 
glorious being which our religion tends to form. We 
do not recommend this cultivation, therefore, as an 
epicurean indulgence, but rather as the employment 
of hours which would be otherwise lost. When 
Dumbiedikes charged his son "to be aye sticking in 
a tree when ye have naething else to do," he proba- 
bly, considering the habits of his son and heir, thought 
it equivalent to a charge to make it the business of 
his life. We would give the same advice to our 
readers ; understanding, however, that they have 
other employments, like Evelyn, who, though in a 
private station, was one of the most active and use- 
ful men of his day. 

We would not say, that this cultivation is more 
important than that of fruit-trees; but they carry 
their own recommendation with them : the most 
unrelenting destroyers of forest-trees spare the others, 
because they can be of service only when living, and 
are of no value in the market when dead. The vir- 
tues of the trees of the forest are not felt by all, 
though they are open to every eye. The cultivation 



AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 71 

of fruit-trees is left to the care of men, because they 
have an inducement to engage in it which can be 
universally understood. Their seeds are generally 
such as the peach-stone or the apple-seed, which can- 
not spread without human care ; they are meant to 
be gathered, and not to vegetate beneath the tree on 
which they grew ; while the trees of the forest, which 
would be less hkely to find friendly hands to render 
them this service, are provided for by the parental 
care of nature ; their seeds are light, easily dislodged 
from the tree, in some instances provided with wings 
to bear them away on the winds of heaven, where 
they can be arrested in their flight, borne down to 
the earth, and beaten into the ground by the sum- 
mer shower. The difference in their forms is also 
well worth observing. The trees which offer their 
fruits to men are generally low and easily climbed ; 
they grow with less towering height and less gigantic 
proportions ; while the trees of the forest, which 
stoop to no burdens, rise and spread, as if glorying 
in their independence of man. It may generally be 
observed, also, that the law of compensation prevails 
in this and all other departments of nature. The 
flowers of the field are more beautiful than the vege- 
tables of the garden ; and, in like manner, the dif- 
ference between the trees of the forest and those of 
the garden is that of sovereigns and slaves. As much 
interest as could be expected or desired is now taken 
in the cultivation of fruit-trees, and it will soon be 
well rewarded. Evelyn expressed a wish, that 
every man might be compelled by law to set out 
fruit-trees on the borders of the public roads, for the 



■yS AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 

benefit of the wayfarers ; but there is much reason 
to doubt whether this class of worthies would confine 
themselves within the limits indicated by the law of 
Moses, reasonable as it is : " When thou comest unto 
thy neighbor's vineyard, thou mayest eat grapes thy 
fill at pleasure, but thou shall not put any in thy ves- 
sel ; " or, rather, they might be too much taken up 
with obeying the first of these provisions to pay 
much attention to the last. We shall be content, 
therefore, to see the highways fringed with trees 
which Avill not lead them into temptation, and will 
offer a still more abundant shade. 

We are glad to see works offered to the public, 
which call their attention to the subject ; and since 
the great point is to excite a general interest in it, the 
author judges well, who calls attention to the Avhole 
subject, — to the physiology as well as cultivation of 
trees. To study botany according to the common 
practice is an inversion of the order of nature ; some 
knowledge of the organization of plants is absolutely 
necessary to prepare the student to pursue the study 
with interest and success ; and it is well known to 
those who have paid any attention to the subject, 
that all the improvements in the practical depart- 
ment, in successful planting and cultivation, have 
been made by men who were most intimately ac- 
quainted with vegetable physiology, who knew the 
use and importance of the various parts and organs, 
the nature and effects of soil, climate, and season, 
and various other circumstances which require to 
be taken into view, but are in general unknown or 
disregarded. Nothing can be more grotesque and 



AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 73 

inhuman than the common process of a husbandman 
in transplanting a tree. His first step is to behead it, 
which, however intended, is an act of Ivindness to put 
it out of its pain ; he then deprives it of the organs of 
respiration, both buds and leaves ; and, last of all, 
buries the root with as much haste and carelessness 
as if it were one of the cholera victims. So wonder- 
ful an exploit was it considered to preserve the spark 
of life in a transplanted tree, that, as some of our 
readers may remember, a worthy in this region many 
years ago became celebrated for his powers, being 
supposed to have some gift of nature, like Sullivan 
for horsebreaking, or Prince Hohenlohe for healing. 
Every tree was supposed to gain life and vigor from 
his touch ; and such was the fame of his success, that 
he was summoned to all parts of the State to practise 
in these desperate cases. In the wane of life, when 
the season of profit was over, he revealed his secret 
to a friend ; and it appeared that his miraculous 
poAver, in saving trees from death, consisted in rescu- 
ing them from the hands of their murderers. He did 
not suffer the tree to be deprived of its head, so im- 
portant a part of the system of all living things ; he 
gave a decent burial to the roots, and secured the 
stem by a stake from being shaken by the winds ; 
but, more than all the rest, he was careful never to 
undertake the important trust except when the wind 
was west and the moon was new. We do not con- 
sider the astronomical and meteorological part of his 
prescriptions quite so essential as he did, but we 
would recommend an acquaintance with vegetable 
physiology as essential to success. How little this is 
7 



74 AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 

generally understood, any one may ascertain by a 
few inquiries of those whose business makes them 
familiar with the woods. We remember once request- 
ing an individual who had passed his life among trees, 
to take a basket and gather some of the seeds of the 
elm, for the purpose of forming a small plantation. 
He seemed doubtful for some time whether the 
request was made in jest or earnest, and at last con- 
fessed that he had passed thirty years of his life Avith- 
out knowing till that moment that the elm had any 
seed. 

Beside the importance of this study just alluded 
to, it is a delightful one even for those who have no 
practical acquaintance with trees : it contains some 
of the most wonderful marks of design and prepara- 
tion, of divine, creative skill, and seemingly intelligent 
action, where there is no mind within to direct it, 
which can be found in any part of nature, eloquent 
and ample as it is in its testimony to Him who made 
it. We shall not enter into the comparison between 
the properties of plants and the instinct of animals, 
our knowledge of both being quite too imperfect ; 
but to us, whether from accidental prejudice or not 
we cannot say, none of the contrivances of the ani- 
mal world seem so surprising as the manner in which 
vegetables, confined as they are to a single spot, are 
able to gather food for their subsistence, to protect 
and restore themselves from injury, to prepare for 
all the changes of season and climate, and at the 
same time to exert a constant action for the benefit 
of man, and, in fact, of all nature. The root, for 
example, — nothing can be more surprising than the 



AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 75 

mtinner in Avhich it forms itself and spreads, so as to 
give the tree precisely the support and subsistence 
which it requires. If the soil or season be dry, it in- 
creases its nourishment by throwing out more fibres. 
The fibres themselves turn and move in the direction 
where moisture is most readily found ; so that, in the 
xvell-known instance of the plane-tree mentioned by 
Lord Kaimes, the roots actually descended the wall 
from a considerable height, in order to find sub- 
sistence in the ground below. The fibres continual- 
ly suck from the soil, with their spongy mouths, 
water impregnated with whatever substances the 
tree requires; and, even after the stem is dead, they 
continue this action for a time, that the gathered 
moisture of the roots may accelerate their decay. 
The manner in which the stem rises and hardens 
itself to resist the elements is equally striking. The 
new wood of the sapling is compressed by the new 
layer which covers it in each succeeding year, being 
thus compelled to shoot upwards, and at the same 
time to grow firm and strong. "While the wood is 
thus formed by accessions from without, the bark 
increases by layers from within, which swell till it 
bursts, and becomes the rough, external garment of 
the tree. The new layers of wood contain the chan- 
nels through which sap is conveyed to the leaves, 
like blood to the lungs of man. The leaves, formed 
of the fibres of the stem spread out and connected by 
a delicate net- work of green, are filled with veins and 
arteries, through which the life-blood flows. They 
are formed in the summer, to expand in the follow- 
ing year ; packed up in their buds with wonderful 



76 AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 

neatness and precision, covered with brown scales lo 
preserve them from t.he frosts of winter, and, if need 
be, coated Avith varnish, which excludes the air and 
moisture through the season of danger, and melts in 
the warm sun of the next year's spring, allowing the 
verdure to break forth at once and cover the tree. 
The early sap steals up the moment the sweet 
influences of Pleiades loose the bands of nature. 
When this has opened the buds, and nourished the 
young leaves, the maturer sap rises, holding the food 
of the tree in solution, and passes directly to the 
leaves. These retain what they want, and dismiss 
the rest by evaporation, Avhich, like the insensible 
perspiration of man, is necessary to the health of the 
tree, but cannot take place without the friendly 
action of the sun. In the leaves, the sap is prepared 
to form part of the substance of the tree, and is then 
distributed by vessels passing principally through the 
bark and partly through the latest formation of wood. 
It is from this returning sap that the various gums 
and similar substances drawn from trees are secreted, 
as tears and saliva in the human system are secreted 
from the blood. The manner and effect of respira- 
tion through the leaves is not the least singular part 
of these operations. They absorb oxygen from the 
atmosphere during the night, to combine with 
the carbon in the sap, and convert it into carbonic 
acid ; the action of the light decomposes the acid ; 
and, Avhile the carbon is deposited in the returning 
sap, the oxygen is exhaled in the air. This is only 
returning Avhat the leaves had borrowed from the 
air : it, however, would be sufficient to prevent inju- 



AMERICAN FOREST-TREES, 77 

rious effects from vegetation, similar to those which 
animals suffer from the air which they have breathed 
in a confined room for any length of time ; and it 
shows that the presence of plants, though injurious 
in the hours of darkness, is perfectly harmless through- 
out the day. 

So far from being deleterious in its effects, the 
respiration of plants, of the million trees, herbs, and 
flowers, is actually beneficial to the air : they are 
constantly purifying the atmosphere, tainted as it is 
with the breath of animals, and the presence of 
decay. For the oxygen they give to the air is not 
merely what they borrowed : they repay the debt 
with interest. The oxygen which was drawn from 
the soil in the sap is exhaled at the same time with the 
other. It is matter of wonder to notice the effects 
produced both by its presence and departure. When 
it is exhaled in the sunshine, the carbon, deposited 
in the leaf, and combining its dark blue with the yel- 
low tissue, produces green, from the first pale tinge 
of spring to the rich, deep summer shade ; and when, 
as in the closing year, the leaves absorb oxygen by 
night, and lose the power of exhaling it by day, it 
destroys the green, and produces the wild and fanci- 
ful wreaths by which autumn veils for a season the 
sad reality of its decay ; a splendid confusion of tints, 
which is seen to more advantage in our country than 
in any other, and is not the least part of the beauty 
by which trees recommend themselves to man. 

It is interesting to observe the manner in which 
trees, as the year declines, prepare themselves to 
resist the cold and to battle with the winter storms. 
7* 



78 AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 

They seem like vessels closing their ports, tightening 
their cordage, and taking in their sails, when only 
the veteran seaman would know that a tempest is 
on the way. They drop their leaves, bind close their 
trunks, and suspend their vital movements, as soon 
as they hear the first whispers of the gale. The 
substance of the tree retains an even temperature 
throughout the year : it draws the sap from a depth, 
where it is colder in summer and warmer in winter 
than the external soil. The bark, too, a slow con- 
ductor of heat, serves to retain its warmth ; and the 
tree seems to make this preparation, as if it knew 
that, should the cold penetrate and burst its vessels, 
it will surely die. It gets rid of its superfluous 
moisture as soon as possible, the danger of frost 
being increased in proportion to the water which it 
contains ; for, as our cultivators know from the sad 
experience of the last winter, a sudden cold after a 
wet season is very apt to be fatal ; but, except in 
extraordinary times, they contrive to secure them- 
selves so effectually, that the severest winter cannot 
destroy them. Meantime, the fallen leaves, unlike 
all other vegetable decay, seem to aid in purifying 
the air. Any one who has walked through a forest, 
after the fall of the leaf, must have observed the 
sharp, peculiar smell of its decay. In short, every 
thing about these lords of the Avood is striking to a 
thoughtful mind. Their graceful and majestic forms 
are pleasing to the eye ; their construction and 
internal action excite the curiosity, and Avorthily em- 
ploy the mind ; they breathe health and fragrance 
upon the air, and in many, probably many yet un- 



AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 79 

discovered "ways, declare themselves the friends of 
man. 

We Avill not dwell further on particulars of this 
kind, which many of our readers already know, 
though they well deserve attention ; but we can 
urge men to do something for themselves more suc- 
cessfully, perhaps, if we show what is done for them 
by the liberal care of nature. And this appears in 
the manner in which the seeds of trees preserve their 
living principle, and resist decay. They may be 
transported to any distance, and preserved for almost 
any length of time. This, however, is not peculiar 
to the seeds of trees : those of frailer plants are 
equally suited in this respect to the convenience of 
man. If buried too deep in the ground for the heat 
to act upon them, they do not vegetate ; but if, years 
after, accident brings them nearer the surface, they 
are ready to spring and grow. This is often seen in 
gardens, where long-lost plants are recovered in this 
way ; and fields, where grain has not been sown for 
nearly half a century, have been covered with it, in 
consequence of being ploughed deeper than usual. 
We are told that wheat, taken from an Egyptian 
mummy, has vegetated and is noAV growing ; and 
even a bulbous root, which more resembles a bud 
than a seed, has grown readily, after having been 
preserved in a similar way for not less than two 
thousand years. It is in this way, undoubtedly, that 
we must account for the fact which has been thought 
so difficult to explain, that, Avhen a forest is cleared 
away in the summary manner so common among us, 
it is succeeded by an entirely different growth. The 



80 AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 

seeds must have remained treasured under the soil, ■— 
a benevolent provision of nature to cover the place 
M^ith verdure, as fast as man makes it a desolation. 
And the same kindness appears in the provision 
made for the geographical distribution of trees. We 
have already alluded to the winged seeds, which any 
one may observe in the plane-tree, or, in fact, in most 
of the trees of the wood. Elevated as they are, the 
wind acts freely upon them, and bears them in every 
direction. Birds also are the means of distributing 
many which could not be dispersed in the air : they 
SAvallow the berries, and restore the seeds uninjured. 
So wide and rapid is their flight, that young grapes 
are sometimes found in the crops of pigeons, caught 
here at a season when our vines are hardly in leaf. 
The trees, often seen growing where no human hand 
could have planted them, are generally such as have 
been sown by birds. Tavernier remarks, that birds 
from distant islands swallow the ripe nutmeg, and 
throw it up undigested ; so that a tree springs from 
it more luxuriant than such as are planted by human 
hands. All animals bear a part in this great work 
of nature. The Indians believed that the squirrel 
employed his leisure hours in planting nuts for the 
benefit of man. Mice are equally philanthropic and 
unwearied in their exertions. It would be a shame 
to men, if they should do nothing for themselves, 
when all nature, living or inanimate, is thus engaged 
in their service. Trees, transplanted from one soil 
and climate to another, require care undoubtedly ; 
but they will do much to naturalize themselves. Men, 
certainly, have done something ; and, wherever they 



AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 81 

have exerted themselves, have been rewarded with 
perfect success. Though Providence has given to 
every region the vegetation most essential to its 
wants, a great proportion has been added to every 
civilized country by human care. Csesar is said to 
have brought the chestnut from Sardis into Europe, — 
an act by which he rendered more service to man- 
kind than by all his battles and victories. Many of 
the finest of our ornamental trees were originally 
imported ; as, for example, the Chinese Ailanthus, 
which endures our severest winters without protec- 
tion. But, so long as the treasures of our own 
forests are neglected, we Avould not recommend to 
our readers to go abroad for that variety which they 
can easily find at home. They can follow the ex- 
ample of the old British planters, and search out the 
virtues of what they already possess. " The lop- 
pings and leaves of the elm," says one of them, 
" when dried in the sun, are preferred to oats by 
cattle." " Beech leaves, gathered about the fall, 
before they are much frost-bitten, afford the best and 
easiest mattresses in the world." " The keys of the 
ash, when young and tender, make a delicate pickle ; 
its bark is the best for tanning nets, its wood for 
drying herrings and for burning in a lady's chamber." 
There are many discoveries yet to be made, by 
Avhich attention may be rewarded. 

The manner in which the Avants of men are pro- 
vided for is finely illustrated in this department of 
nature. Every thing appears Avhen and where it is 
wanted. Sharon Turner has pointed out a pleasing 
instance of this in the " Sacred History of the World." 



82 AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 

Seeds, as is well known to cultivators, vegetate best 
in darkness ; and, till this change is commenced, are 
injured, if not destroyed, by the presence of the sun. 
Accordingly, in the history of creation, we find Avhat 
would generally be thought an inversion of the order 
of nature : the vegetation is said to have begun before 
the sun made its first appearance in the sky ; that 
luminary was not created till its action was needed 
to develop the leaves and flowers. Similar exam- 
ples of prospective care may be found in our coun- 
try, Avhere great changes are crowded into narrow 
spaces of time. When civilized man first came to 
these regions, the forests were ready to feed his 
gigantic fires ; and the same process which was ne- 
cessary to clear the land for cultivation supplied him 
with comfort for his miserable dwelling, which could 
hardly be warmed by any thing less than a confla- 
gration. Before the field could be subdued, the 
forests abounded with game, and the rivers with 
fish. But, the moment these resources were no 
longer needed for food, the beasts began to retire 
from the forests and the fish from the streams, as a 
sort of intimation to man, that they supported him 
only so long as he could not live by his oAvn ex- 
ertions. And now, in the populous parts of our 
country, where the hands of all can be profitably 
employed, and such resources would be no better 
than temptations, there is nothing left to invite or 
reward any sportsman, save only the forlorn and 
desperate fisherman, who Avanders, lilie a ghost on 
the banks of the fabled river below, exulting in a 
nibble, and beside himself Avith joy at the capture of 



AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 83 

a minnow. But civilization diminishes the wood; 
and then those Avho spend fortunes in the discovery 
of expedients for cheap fuel, — who, as was said of 
Count Rumford, " will not be content till they can 
cook their dinner with the smoke of their neighbor's 
chimney," though they do not often benefit them- 
selves, certainly aid to prevent ravages and waste 
of the woods. Meantime the treasures of coal begin 
to come to hght, not perhaps in every part of the 
country, but where they are within the reach of all ; 
for the free communication which all public im- 
provement requires between all parts of the land 
demands its raikoads and canals, and does not cease 
till the boat or the car can lay down its burden 
almost at every man's door. 

It would seem, from the accounts of geologists, 
that we are indebted to vegetation for a great pro- 
portion of the materials which are now generally 
used for fires. In the peat-bogs of Scotland and 
Ireland, the remains of large trees are very abun- 
dant : they must have originally fallen with age, and, 
by damming streams, luade the soil unfit to support 
vegetation ; so that whole forests fell, and were 
buried under gradual accumulations of vegetable 
matter. When the levels of Hatfield Chase were 
drained, vast numbers of trees of all kinds were found 
buried under the soil, which were overthrown proba- 
bly by the Romans, in order to drive out the natives 
who had taken shelter in them. In the peat-mosses 
of Scotland, the pines which have been buried for 
ages, embalmed in their turpentine, retain their fresh- 
ness : similar remains are found in various parts of 



84 AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 

England. In many of these bogs are seen the marks 
of successive formations : the oak is found in the 
lowest stratum ; and in some parts of Scotland, where 
at the present day oaks are dwarfish if they grow at 
all, they are found of very large dimensions. This 
stratum of peat is said to be very Httle inferior to 
coal. In the second stratum, there is a much greater 
variety of wood ; but birch and hazel are the prevail- 
ing kinds. Where there is a third stratum, the prin- 
cipal portion of the wood is alder. Though the peat 
is but little valued in this country where other fuel 
still abounds, there are regions in which it is very 
important ; and we find, according to the suggestion 
we have made, that, in countries where woods have 
been wasted so that now they are almost gone, and 
where the transportation of coal Avould be expensive, 
if possible, these remams of ancient forests have been 
kept by the arrangement of Providence, as a buried 
treasure, within the reach of man's wants, but safe 
from his devastations. 

Many of our readers know, that coal, with the 
exception of anthracite, is supposed also to be of 
vegetable origin. Geologists are not agreed upon 
this subject; but in some formations there are evi- 
dent remains of vegetable matter, and some believe 
they can trace the successive changes fi"om bitumi- 
nated wood to coal. De Luc believes that the coal- 
formations are the peat-bogs of the ancient world, 
which had become inundated with sea- water. The 
fossil peat, he says, differs from coal only in not 
having been minerahzed, and not having ferruginous 
masses in the strata above it. It is believed that the 



AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 85 

same action of water which changed vegetable mat- 
ter into peat can, after considerable time, produce 
the further change to bitumen, and that the whole 
process can be traced from the vegetable to peat, 
peat to lignite, and lignite to coal. Thus it appears, 
that a great proportion of men are now making use 
of the remains of an earlier vegetation, which has 
been preserved for their benefit by the unmerited 
liberality of nature. 

We say the unmerited liberality of nature, because 
men are strangely wanting to themselves in these 
respects. It is natural enough, that the first settlers 
of a forest-region should take summary measures to 
clear the soil for cultivation ; but to keep up a wild 
waste, both with axe and fire, long after the soil is 
subdued, is not so natural for those who have com- 
mon sense to govern their actions. The Avestern 
hunters, Avho would kill the buffalo for his tongue, 
are not more merciless than the "lumberers" of 
Canada. A party engaged in a lumbering expedi- 
tion provide themselves with axes, provisions, and 
cattle, and proceed to the spot chosen for their winter 
encampment, which, of course, is established where 
the pine-timber most abounds. Here they build 
their log-hut in the usual extemporaneous manner, 
with a hole in the roof for a chimney, and pine- 
branches for beds, on which they sleep with their 
feet towards the fire. The person employed as cook 
provides the breakfast before dayhght, if that name 
can be given to the meal, which they never partake 
till they have paid their morning devotions to the 
bottle. After breakfast, they separate into gangs, 



86 AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 

one of which cuts down the trees, another hews 
them, and the third conveys them to the water. 
Thus they are employed till the streams are swelled 
by the melted snow in the spring, when they make 
the logs into rafts, and are compelled to be so much 
in the water that they contract a determined hostility 
to that element, which lasts as long as they Hve. 
This, however, is not very long ; for then' employ- 
ment is almost as fatal to themselves as to the trees 
they hew. Parties of this kind are fast destroying 
the best vegetation of the northern forests ; but, care- 
less as they are, they are not half so destructive as 
the clearing fires. Kindled without regard to any 
thing beyond the immediate purpose of clearing a 
few acres, it does not occur to the engineer, that it 
may possibly spread beyond them : he takes it for 
granted, that the fire, like the other agents he em- 
ploys, will be likely to do less rather than more than 
he requires. Thus it often spreads into a conflagra- 
tion which the floods cannot drown, and the growth 
of centuries sinks in a day, a scorched and black- 
ened ruin. 

This process is conducted on a smaller scale, as 
the country advances ; not because men grow more 
thoughtful in regard to future wants, but simply be- 
cause less is left to destroy. Even now, whoever 
visits the northern parts of New England at certain 
seasons is almost sure to see flames climbing the 
hill-sides, and long red lines of fire reflected in the 
waters by night. Beside the vast tracts of forest, 
which are thus perhaps necessarily sacrificed ; beside 
the immense quantities of wood, annually built up 



AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 87 

in houses and vessels and consumed in fires, our 
steamboats are every year increasing in numbers, 
and making vast demands upon the forests of the 
country. And yet, though the remark is frequently 
made that all this must have an end, no one ever 
seems to feel that our forests are not inexhaustible. 
In the reign of Edward I. the nobility of England, 
Avhose delicate senses were offended by the use of 
coal, procured an order from the king, that nothing 
but Avood should be used. Perhaps, at that day, 
such an order might be obeyed ; but there has not 
been a period since, when the comfort, prosperity, 
and even existence of England have not rested upon 
her mineral treasures. The time must come when 
our drafts upon the forests of our country must be 
dishonored, unless some attention is paid to this 
neglected subject. Wood must be used for various 
purposes, which anthracite coal has not yet been 
found to answer. If many tracts, which are now 
given to unprofitable cultivation, were allowed to 
cover themselves with this vegetation again, the hus- 
bandman might labor to more advantage in narrower 
bounds, and the country would not be obliged to 
give up an article, the want of which it would be 
extremely difficult to supply. 

Some other countries, which have begun to feel 
the inconveniences of this privation, have bestowed 
a degree of attention upon this subject which would 
seem incomprehensible to matiy of our countrymen. 
The Germans have established forest schools, in 
which are taught all things relating to this kind of 
vegetation, and the culture and management of forest- 



88 AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 

trees. This system it vroiild be impossible to intro- 
duce among us at present, at least upon a similar 
scale ; for the Germans, thorough in every thing, 
include a considerable range of sciences in the for- 
ester's education, embracing not only what are indis- 
pensable, but all that can aid him in his pursuits ; 
whereas among us an acquaintance with the art of 
wood-chopping would be the only qualification re- 
quired by public opinion. In France, where the 
forests supply nearly all their fuel in the form of 
wood or charcoal, a very rigid system of economy is 
enforced by law. In England, during the existence 
of the Republic, the forests were hewn down without 
mercy, and sold by men in power for their own 
advantage ; in France, on the contrary, during the 
Revolution, the public forests escaped the fury of 
the storm. In consequence of their enactments, 
and the strictness with which they are observed, it is 
calculated that the supply Avill always equal the 
demand. In England this matter is left to individ- 
uals, with the single exception of securing the largest 
timber for the navy ; and, in this country also, the 
only way to produce a change in this respect is to 
impress the necessity of such attention upon the peo- 
ple at large. Our government has lately shown 
some little regard to the preservation of timber. It is 
said that every ship of the line requires all the good 
wood which can be found on fifty acres of woodland. 
As the ships decay long before the forest can grow 
again, and our navy must be constantly increasing, 
it is certainly time that something efficient should be 
done. Our government, however, is a mere expres- 



AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 



89 



sion of the popular sentiment ; and, unless some con- 
viction of the necessity of care should generally pre- 
vail, it is in vain to expect our rulers to regard such 
matters. Even if they should, they have no power 
to compel : the individual must be wrought upon by 
a regard to the public good ; a principle which acts 
but seldom and sparingly, unless connected with 
some small hope of personal advantage. There are 
many Avho show, though they do not avow, the feel- 
ing of him Avho said, that he should think it time to 
do something for posterity, when posterity had done 
something for him. 

The business of cultivating trees, and supplying 
their places as they are cut away, is not one that can 
be wholly left to nature ; for, liberal as she is, she 
seems sometimes to grow weary of offering her boun- 
ties where there are none to regard them, or none 
who will regard them. Forest-trees, hardy as they 
are when they have reached a considerable height, 
are tender in their infancy, and require considerable 
care. If such care is given, they reward it liberally ; 
but, if it is not given, there are cases in which whole 
forests have perished, and left a wilderness where 
they stood. The earth needs them to shelter it from 
the extremes of cold and heat, to maintain and trea- 
sure the moisture, and to produce certain changes in 
the air ; and, wherever they perish, the earth suffers 
not only their loss, but the loss of all the advantages 
which they afford to vegetation of all other kinds, to 
say nothing of the loss to man. The bogs of Ireland, 
desolate as they are now, were once covered with 
wood ; and the same change has taken place in Lap- 

8* 



90 AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 

land and the northern islands. In America, many 
vast tracts at the north, Avhich are now desolate, 
were, according to Indian traditions, which there is 
no reason to doubt, once covered with gigantic trees. 
Scotland, in modern times, has been noted for its de- 
ficiency in this kind of verdure. When Dr. Johnson 
lost his walking-stick, and was assured by way of 
consolation that it would be found again, he refused 
to be comforted, thinking that no doubt it would be 
found, but that it was equally certain he should not 
find it ; for how could it be expected that any one 
who had possessed himself of such a stick of timber 
in Scotland could restore it ? It would imply super- 
natural virtue ; and yet, in these very regions, not 
only the trunks and roots of trees are found in the 
bogs, but the roots of large oaks, and even moulder- 
ing trunks, are found on the surface, where they are 
unacquainted with the living tree. It is believed, 
that not only the soil, but the climate, has suffered a 
serious change by reason of this loss. It probably 
was owing to neglect, which produces the same 
effects with wanton violence upon the face of nature ; 
and we know not why other countries may not suffer 
in the same way, if they do not pay some regard to 
these blessings, which, if divinely planted, still need 
the care of man» 

The great proportion of those who pay attention 
to the business of planting in this country seem to do 
it mechanically, with the single object of collecting 
trees in sufficient numbers, and without regard to the 
circumstances just mentioned, or in fact to any prin- 
ciples of taste. If the enclosure be small, it is bor- 



AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 



91 



dered by trees in regular file and at equal distances, 
arranged with military precision ; or, if the improve- 
ments are made in a wider field of action, the trees 
are gathered by a press-gang and left to themselves, 
as if they could choose positions best suited to their 
habits and natures. Those who can embrace forests 
in their plans are few in number ; and, where any 
conduct their improvements on this extended scale, 
the woods are still so extensive in our country that 
they are seldom obliged to resort to the slow process 
of transplanting. A forest is a grand and imposing 
object, whether rising on the hill-side, like the galle- 
ries of an amphitheatre, or resting on the smooth and 
even plain ; and reminds us of the ocean, not only 
by the hollow sound that sweeps through its caverns, 
but by the bays and indentures that vary the line of 
its borders. But in this country we need groves 
more than forests, and clumps and thickets more 
than groves ; and the manner of arranging these so 
as to lose the stiffness and formality of art, to secure 
the favorable points of prospect, and to shut out 
whatever might offend the eye, and to bring together 
in their best proportions the variety of colors and 
forms in nature, are refinements which at present 
have excited but very little attention, though there is 
hardly an estate of the least pretension, in which 
ihey are not called for. Scarcely any one ever thinks 
of what is called the composition of the scene. 

As this branch of the subject does not come within 
the design of the work before us, we shall not dwell 
upon it here. If a man desire to improve the ap- 
pearance of his estate, he naturally wishes to enjoy 



92 AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 

the result of his labors as early as possible ; and, if 
his object be to improve the village-road and burial- 
place, or the streets and squares of the city, he Avill 
not have patience to plant the seed, nor will any trees, 
except such as have gained considerable strength and 
size, be able to endure the rough treatment to which 
they are necessarily exposed in pubhc places. But 
the business of transplanting trees already grown is 
so laborious, expensive, and slow, — so much care 
is required, and so little given, without the constant 
presence of a superintending eye ; so many trees 
wither and die at once, and so many linger on in a 
sickly and discouraging state, holding places which 
might be better filled, and, after all the care that has 
been given them, disappointing the planter's hopes 
at last, that those who commence the undertaking 
with enthusiasm are apt to give it over in despair. 
It is therefore very important to establish and make 
known some rules upon the subject, which shall pre- 
vent such waste of labor, money, and time ; and, if 
this could be done, it would secure to the public the 
benefit of many such improvernents ; for there are 
those who would have spirit enough to make them, 
if they could do it with a reasonable assurance that 
their exertions would not be thrown away. We 
believe that there is much more public spirit existing 
everywhere than we see displayed in this or any 
other way; for no man attempts an enterprise with 
vigor unless he is confident of success, and so many 
endeavors of this kind have failed, that kw have any 
very inspiring hope of raising arches of shade which 
shall make those who come after him approve his 
taste and bless his friendly hand. 



AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. yo 

The art of transplanting is old enough to be better 
understood than it is. It is one of those things, 
which, because it is easily done, is seldom well done. 
It is well known that the Greeks and Romans 
were in the constant habit of removing trees and 
even plantations of considerable size, without observ- 
ing any other rule than that which is now in common 
use among our planters, w^ho trim the branches in 
proportion to what the foots have suffered in the op- 
eration. Count Maurice, of Nassau, when governor 
of Brazil, chose a naked island for his residence ; 
and, by removing trees in great numbers, some of 
them fifty years old and more, soon covered it with 
verdure and beauty. Similar attempts were made 
in Europe, some of them of a still bolder character ; 
the trees being transplanted in mid-summer. Evelyn 
observes, that huge oaks had been removed in France 
before his day. Louis XIV. was a great transplanter 
both of trees and men ; but unfortunately he re- 
moved the trees with as little regard to principle as 
he manifested in removing the men. In these at- 
tempts, a ball of earth was carried w^ith the tree, 
which added considerably to the weight, particularly 
Avhen the earth was frozen. All these improvements 
required great expense and labor, and were ways in 
which the wealthy showed their power, rather than 
sugorestions of taste and a love of nature. 

The well-known experiment of Sir Henry Stuart 
Avas the first attempt at decided improvement, and, 
like most other valuable discoveries, was not OAving 
to accident, but was the result of scientific inquiry 
into the subject. It seemed as unnatural to him to 



94 AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 

mangle and hew the tree before its removal, as to 
amputate the limbs of an emigrant before he leaves 
his country. It is true, there must be sufficient root 
to convey support to the stem and leaves ; but, if the 
root be preserved unmutilated, so may the stem and 
branches; and it may be so preserved, either by 
taking up the whole, or by cutting off the ends of 
the larger roots in the preceding spring. They soon 
throw out fibres, and convey the same nourishment 
as before, though they spread in a narrower circle. 
Being thus contracted into a small space, it requires 
less time to dig round and raise them ; and, as the 
place to receive the tree is previously made ready, 
the whole operation is finished with but small ex- 
pense of labor or time. This suggestion, simple and 
natural as it seems, was entirely new ; and the suc- 
cess with which it has been followed by himself and 
others will inspire many to follow his example. On 
his own estate he supplied, by his own energy, both 
the woods and waters. It was originally destitute of 
both, but now affords the varieties of grove and forest, 
promontory and island, lake and river, produced, not 
by resisting, but by following, the dictates of nature, 
whose unceasing endeavor it is to remove barrenness, 
to extend and strengthen vegetation, and who spreads 
her bright green wreaths even over the ruins made 
by the desolating hands of man. 

But, in the face of these successful experiments, 
we must confess, that we agree with the author of 
this work that the best way of raising trees is from 
the seed. When sown in a favorable soil, they grow 
so rapidly that they will almost overtake those which 



AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 95 

have been transplanted, which, though they live and 
flourish, do not always recover their vigor. Any one 
may observe how soon the tree which springs from the 
chance-sown seed rises and throws its shadow over 
his garden ; and he may be sure that it will not grow 
less rapidly when the seed is sown with care. We 
have seen those who have raised their shade about 
them in this way ; and their patience has been well 
rewarded in a space of time w^iich seemed surpris- 
ingly short even to themselves. Doubtless, if it were 
possible to procure young trees raised for the pur- 
pose, a few years might be saved ; but our nurseries 
will not afford them ; and to take trees from the 
forest, for the purpose, is like forcing owls into 
the sun. We would recommend it, therefore, to the 
planter to arm himself with that patience which is 
said to belong to the husbandman ; to sow the seed 
with both hands ; and to take encouragement from 
the thought, that, if he does not enjoy the results of 
his labors, others will. But these should be generous 
labors : they belong to liberal spirits, they imply a cer- 
tain degree of refinement ; such refinement as makes 
men willing to exert themselves without money and 
without price. 

We take the liberty to recommend to every man 
who has an inch of ground, to fill it up with a tree. 
There are many who Avill do nothing of the kind, 
because their territories are small. We can assure 
them that they will find the truth of what Hesiod 
said to agriculturists thousands of years ago, that 
half an estate is more than the whole. Within these 
hmits, however small, they produce effects Avhich 



96 AMERICAN FOREST- TREES. 

will fill even themselves with surprise. If their enclo- 
sure be Avithin the city, Avhere the object is to make 
the most of their possessions, they should remember, 
that, if they cannot have verdure on the soil, they can 
have it in the air ; and, if in the country, that nothing 
gives a more unfavorable, and at the same time cor- 
rect, impression of the character of a landholder, than 
the aspect of an estate which presents no trees along 
its borders, to shelter the traveller from the sun. 
Every cottage should have its elm, extending its 
mighty protecting arms above it. The associations 
and partialities of children will twine themselves like 
wild vines around it ; and, if any one doubt that he 
will be better and happier for such, he little knows 
the feeling with which the wayfarer in life returns 
from the wilderness of men to the shadow, 

" Where once his careless childhood strayed, 
A stranger yet to pain." 

We wish it were in our power to do something to 
call the general attention to the subject of respect 
to the dead. It gives a painful feehng to pass 
through a city or village in our country, and to see 
the shameful desolation and neglect of the burial- 
place, which, if no longer consecrated by religious 
acts, should certainly be held sacred by the heart. 
And yet, were it not for the monuments Avhich here 
and there appear above the golden-rod and the aster, 
we should not know these from any other barren 
fields. A vile enclosure of unpainted wood is all 
that protects them from violation ; and, if any tree 
cast a friendly shadow over it, we may be sure it is 



AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 97 

one planted by the hand of nature, not of man. We 
have seen places of this kind in the country, which 
the fathers of the hamlet seemed to have chosen with 
a taste seldom found among the early inhabitants of 
any region, on the banks of rivers, or the borders of 
deep forests, where every thing around favored the 
contemplation to which the mind in such places is 
and ought to be led, and have found evidence there 
of the degeneracy, not the improvement, of their 
children, who had disappointed their designs, and 
suffered all to run to waste and barrenness, whether 
from want of refinement or from avarice we did not 
know. It is perfectly surprising that none should 
be found to take away this reproach. Some of the 
most uncivilized nations are ages before us in their 
regard for these delicate and sacred feelings. They 
would not permit the young and beautiful, the aged 
and honorable, to be cast into a place so neglected, 
when even a dog who had been faithful would 
deserve a more honored grave. Our own evergreen 
cypress is as suitable as the Oriental to surround the 
place of death ; and, were it not so, we have many 
other trees whose character of form and foliage is 
well suited to the sad and thoughtful expression, 
which the common feeling requires such places to 
bear. 

There is no need of urging the claiiTis of this kind 
of improvement upon the inhabitants of our cities. 
Tliey are in general sufficiently attentive to their 
public grounds ; but one thing is a little remarkable 
in their proceedings ; they confine themselves to a 
single tree. Can any mortal inform us why a spot 



93 AMERICAN FOREST-TREES. 

like the common of our city, for example, where 
thousands of trees might stand without interfering 
with the public or each other, should not afford 
specimens of other trees beside the elm ? It is a 
noble tree, perhaps the finest that could be chosen ; 
but the polished foliage of the oak, the hght green of 
the plane-tree and willow, the various forms and 
shades of the maples, larches, and pines, would break 
the uniformity of the scene, and relieve the eye. 
Moreover, groups of trees might be scattered here 
and there to advantage, without injury to the public ; 
for, if they should occasionally break the ranks of 
the train-bands, we apprehend that no serious conse- 
quences would endanger the defence of our country. 
Places for which nature has done much, require the 
more of man, because they offer him a vantage- 
ground to begin his improvements, and constantly 
upbraid him if he neglects them. 



99 



HABITS OF INSECTS. 



Insect Architecture. Insect Transformations. Insect Miscellanies. 
London, 1831. 

We never have had the honor of an hitimacy with 
our fellow-creatures of the insect race ; and have 
occasionally found their personal attentions so trou- 
blesome, that we should have been willing to drop 
their acquaintance altogether. Since this may not 
be, and we must tolerate them, whether we like their 
company or not, we feel grateful to those who, by 
their patient and searching investigations, discover 
the habjts and characters of these creatures, which, 
though they have much to reward attention, have 
but few attractions to invite it. We can understand 
the passion which leads such men as Audubon and 
Nuttall to encounter the evils of solitude, hardship, 
and privation, and to feel well rewarded by the 
discovery of a new bird or flower, better than the 
self-devotion of such men as Reaumur to the study 
of the insect race, the greater proportion of which 
seem like an unlovely rabble, having few claims 
upon the gratitude or affection of man. But our 
hasty impressions on this subject, as well as most 
others, would mislead us ; for these philosophers 

L.ofC. 



]00 HABITS OF INSECTS. 

have opened golden mines of discovery in this un- 
promising soil, and unfolded some of the most strik- 
ing evidences of divine wisdom ever presented to 
man, in this part of the creation, on which many will 
not dare or deign to look. They have not labored, 
however, wholly without reward ; for the curious 
facts, made known by Huber and many others, have 
awakened a general interest in the subject ; it is 
now embraced within the demands of education ; it 
is used also by friends to human improvement, to 
inspire a general thirst for knowledge, which, once 
inspired, easily directs itself to the channels in which 
it can move to most advantage. It is important to 
take care, that the popular demand for information 
shall be well suppHed. Thei-e is some cause to 
apprehend, that popular works shall be manufactured 
for the booksellers, which, like the broth sometimes 
provided for the poor in cities in seasons of famine, 
shall answer the double purpose of satisfying their 
hunger for the present, and removing all temptation 
they might have to apply again. 

These works, however, are not of a description to 
strengthen these fears. They appear to have been 
prepared for the " Library of Entertaining Know- 
ledge" by the English naturalist, Mr. Rennie, whose 
reputation is generally known. His favorite maxim 
is, that Natural History must be studied, not in 
human abridgments and compilations, but in the 
great book of Nature. This plan of field-study 
requires, to be sure, more earnestness and diligence 
than every one possesses : it is not every one, either, 
who has leisure or advantages of situation for pursu- 



HABITS OF INSECTS. 101 

ing it. Still he is doubtless right in saying, that the 
study of books is apt to be a study of words, and not 
of things ; and that a few facts, learned from personal 
observation, will inspire more interest and enthu- 
siasm than the study of books for years. His re- 
marks probably are meant to point out the proper 
education for a naturalist, — for one who is to enter 
deeply into the subject ; but the great majority of 
readers, while they do not wish to be wholly unin- 
formed, must, from the necessity of the case, take 
the observations of others upon trust. They will 
easily persuade themselves to submit to this necessity, 
if all the authorities upon which they are compelled 
to rely are as entertaining and instructive as the 
author of the works before us. 

We observe that Mr. Rennie, like other entomolo- 
gists, Linnseus among the rest, has thought it neces- 
sary to maintain the dignity of the study. There is 
no great necessity for filing this protest against the 
common feeling, which arises from ignorance, and 
disappears as fast as the means of making themselves 
acquainted with this subject have been offered to the 
world. There is something sufficiently comic in 
seeing a man holding forth, with the eloquence of 
Cicero, upon the wonders and beauties of an insect's 
wing. We are struck with the physical dispropor- 
tion between the investigator and his subject ; but 
Ave do not doubt, all the while, that he has found 
something fully worthy the attention of an enlight- 
ened mind. There are smiles which are perfectly 
consistent with respect,' and playful satire with which 

no one needs feel insulted. There is no great malice 
9* 



102 HABITS OF INSECTS. 

in such ridicule as this ; and it is rather forbearing 
than otherwise, when it is considered what language 
the enthusiasts in the science have sometimes used. 
One of the most distinguished among them was so 
lost in rapture at contemplating the evolutions of a 
party of insects upon the wing, that they reminded 
him of nothing less than seraphs and sons of light, 
shining in the glories of their heavenly state ; a com- 
parison quite too lofty for the occasion, and one 
which the most ambitious insect Avould confess was 
quite beyond his pretensions. Apart from the dis- 
position which men have to exalt their favorite pur- 
suit, it is well known that the spirit of philosophical 
investigation, whether it directs itself to beast, bird, 
or flower, or, as is generally the case, includes them 
all, is one which is seldom found, except in enlight- 
ened and active minds. It affords to such minds a 
pursuit, in its lower stages harmless and happy, and 
in its higher efforts requiring intellectual exertion 
sufficient to recommend it to great men, as a field 
in which their powers may be worthily and rehgious- 
ly employed. 

The advantage of supplying means of happiness 
to men is not generally understood ; and yet, in ordi- 
nary circumstances, whatever makes men happier 
makes them better ; a fact which has hitherto been 
strangely overlooked by moralists, but now begins 
to be regarded as one of the most important princi- 
ples of moral reform by those who would root out 
prevailing vices, and supply men with those induce- 
ments and encouragements, without which they will 
do nothing even for their own welfare. Most men 



HABITS OF INSECTS. 103 

are driven to lawless pleasure by vacancy of mind, 
by the torture of a mind preying upon itself for want 
of foreign materials to act upon ; and, as learning • 
has been regarded as quite beyond the common 
reach, none but minds highly cultivated, or very 
energetic by nature, have been able to find a suffi- 
cient number of worthy objects to engage them. 
Action is as important to the mind as it was to elo- 
quence, in the opinion of the great master of the art : 
action the mind must have, right or wrong. It is 
well if it can find ways in which its activity may be 
exerted, without running to waste, or bringing injury 
to itself or others ; and whoever points out such 
ways, not to the enlightened few only, but makes 
them so plain that all the world can see them, de- 
serves to be regarded as the greatest reformer of 
popular vices, because he destroys the root of the 
evil, while others have been laboring without success 
upon the branches, which spring again with new 
vigor as fast as they are hewn away. Even when 
the mind is most inactive, an action, though not vol- 
untary, is going on in it, which tends fast to its injury 
and corruption ; its calm, like that of the waters, 
if it endure for any length o." time, becomes stag- 
nation ; and this is a danger to which men are the 
more exposed, because the mind never seems so rapt, 
so absorbed in meditation, as when it is thinking of 
nothing at all. Cowper has well described the sol- 
emn aspect of the dreamer, gazing upon the evening 
fire, looking as if he were deliberating upon the fate 
of nations, while nothing that deserves to be honored 
with the name of a thought passes through his mind 



104 HABITS OF INSECTS. 

for hours together. So, too, in a solitary walk, which 
is generally supposed to be so favorable to thought, 
the mind gives itself up to reverie, without exerting 
itself to any good purpose. Now, if the naturalist 
can make men attentive and observant ; if he can 
make them note the construction and contrivances of 
insects, in which instinct seems sometimes to surpass 
intelligence in the skill and success of its operations ; 
if he can make them regard the beauty of the deli- 
cate flower, which they used to crush beneath their 
feet, or induce them to listen to the song and observe 
the plumage of the bird, which formerly, if not a 
" good shot," was nothing to them, he will afford to 
them a never-failing source of enjoyment, and secure 
to his favorite sciences the benefit of many useful 
facts and observations. 

Insects are now a formidable body, and were 
much more so in former times, when their habits and 
persons were less familiarly known. Men had not 
begun to ask whence they came, nor whither they 
were going ; but they found them when they least 
desired their company, and there was a sort of mys- 
tery in their movements, Avhich, more than any thing 
else, tends to inspire the feeling of dread. It was on 
this account that they were first distinguished by the 
name of bug, which, however it may have degener- 
ated into a watchword of contempt at the present 
day, was formerly synonymous with ghost or spec- 
tre, and equally alarming. The passage of Scripture 
from the Psalms, " Thou shalt not nede to be afraide 
of any bug by night," as it stood in Matthews's old 
English Bible, is probably known to our readers. 



HABITS OF INSECTS. 105 

Later translators have judiciously substituted a more 
general word in its stead. But even now, consider- 
ing their power to destroy our peace, there is some 
reason to fear them ; and, were there nothing else 
formidable about them, their numbers are sufficiently 
alarming. When we hear their concert on a summer 
evening, it sounds as if every leaf and every blade 
of grass had found a voice, though, in fact, there is 
no voice in the matter : they deal wholly in instru- 
mental music. Some have heard a voice-like sound 
proceeding from a moth occasionally ; but their con- 
cert — great nature's hum — is produced by rubbing 
the hard shells of the wings against the trunk, or to- 
gether, which makes a sharp and shrill sound that 
can be heard at a considerable distance. The hum 
of insects on the wing can be heard when the per- 
former is invisible. We remember, that, once stand- 
ing in a summer day on the top of a high hill, we 
heard a sound as of a million bees directly over our 
head, when not an insect, which could be held re- 
sponsible for any noise, was within our view. Such 
cases are not uncommon ; and the only explanation 
is, that the authors of the sound are distant, and its 
loudness deceives us into the impression that it is 
nigh. 

We will suggest some advantages of an acquaint- 
ance with this subject ; we mean a general acquaint- 
ance, such as popular works are calculated to give. 
For example, the insect called the death-watch was 
formerly thought to sound an alarm of death to 
some inmate of the mansion where it was heard, 
though it would have required a perpetual cholera 



106 HABITS OF INSECTS. 

to have fulfilled half the number of his predictions. 
Now, it is known to proceed from a little wood-bor- 
ing insect, whose skull is somewhat hard, and who 
uses it for the purpose of a signal to others. Stand- 
ing on its hind legs, it beats regularly on a board a 
number of times, — a process, which, comparing its 
force with the size of the insect, one Avould think 
more likely to be fatal to itself than to those who 
hear it. The bug, so well known in connection with 
" rosy dreams and slumbers light," Avhen it was first 
imported into England, occasioned equal dismay, — 
an alarm not wholly superstitious and unreasonable, 
when we remember how often it has " murdered the 
sleep " of the innocent as well as the guilty. If we 
may believe David Deans, the Scotch bewail its intro- 
duction among them as one of the evils of the Union, 
and for that reason distinguish it by the name of the 
English bug. The history of the Hessian fly, which 
made its appearance at the close of the American 
Avar, and which certain aged people, beheving it to 
be a consequence of our separation from the British 
Government, named the Revolution fly, shows how 
much alarm and trouble ignorance of the character 
of a little insect may occasion. They first appeared 
in Staten Island, and spread rapidly, destroying the 
wheat upon their way. They passed the Delaware 
in clouds, and swarmed like the flies of Egypt in 
every place where their presence was unwelcome. 
The British, naturally disliking every thing that sa- 
vored of revolution, were in great fear lest they 
shovild reach their island, and resolved to prevent it, 
if necessary, with all the power of their fleet. The 



HABITS OF INSECTS. 107 

privy council sat day after day ; despatches were 
sent to all the foreign ministers ; expresses were sent 
to the custom-houses to close the ports ; Sir Joseph 
Banks, Avho held such matters in special charge, — 
as Swift said Mr. Flamstead was once appointed by 
Government to look after the stars, — was called 
upon to exert himself, with such importunity, that, 
if such a thing Avere possible, he grew almost pro- 
fane upon the occasion. He shouted across the 
ocean to Dr. Mitchell, while the doctor stood wring- 
ing his hands upon the western shore. When he 
had collected all the information which could be 
furnished by scientific and practical men concerning 
the bug in question, amounting to more than two 
hundred octavo pages, he enhghtened the Govern- 
ment with the information, that he did not know 
what the creature was ; a report satisfactory as far 
as it went, no doubt, but which might, for aught that 
appears, have been reduced to somewhat smaller 
dimensions. If any one could have furnished a 
scientific description of the insect, it might have been 
probably arrested m its depredations ; and, if not, 
there would have been some consolation to men, 
could they have pointed it out to the indignation and 
scorn of the world. 

Our cultivators can furnish illustrations enough of 
the evils of ignorance on this subject. The common 
locust, robinia pseicdacacia, whose velvet leaf ex- 
ceeds other foliage in beauty as much as its wood 
exceeds that of other trees in value, is almost ruined 
in New England by the larva of a moth, which is 
known to naturalists, but which no means have yet 



108 HABITS OF INSECTS. 

been able to destroy. We know, that, in plantations 
lately made, the ravages of the insect have been con- 
fined to their sunny borders ; but we greatly fear, 
that, in a year or two, they will carry their inroads 
into the heart of the groves. Certainly, the fine trees 
of this description which fringe the highways and 
surround the cottages must be given up to this little 
pest, which, so far as we know at present, will only 
cease from its labors on condition of being cut in tAvo. 
The cankerworm, too, is waging a war of extermina- 
tion upon our fruit-trees. After passing the winter 
in the ground, — would that it were its grave ! — the 
insect makes over the tree to its heirs, which can 
only, with our present knowledge, be checked by 
means that, like curing the headache by amputation, 
are too effectual for the end proposed. Pear-orchards 
resemble the gardens of the French nobleman, men- 
tioned by Madame de Stael, which were planted with 
dead trees in order to inspire contemplation : not 
knowing enough of the borer to be able to bring him 
to justice, the cultivator can only sigh over his more 
than lost labors. But for Dr. Franklin, it would 
have been more common than it is now", and the 
practice is by no means obsolete, for every family to 
supply itself with moschettoes by keeping large, open 
vessels of water near their houses, as if for the special 
benefit of this insect, whose bark and bite are equally 
undesirable. The moschetto lays its eggs upon the 
water, where they are hatched into grubs, which 
float with their heads dowmvard : when the time for 
their change is come, they break through their outer 
covering, and draw themselves out standhig upright, 



HABITS OF INSECTS. 109 

SO that they appear like a vessel, the corslet being 
the boat, and the body officiating as mast and sail. 
Their former sea-change is now reversed ; for, should 
their naval establishment overset, they are inevitably 
lost rnoschettoes. As soon as their wings are dried, 
they fly away to their work of blood. As six or 
seven generations are born in a summer, and each 
mother can furnish two hundred and fifty eggs, it is 
evident that a vessel of water, properly neglected, 
will people the air of a whole neighborhood. But 
there is no end to the list of evils arising from igno- 
rance on this subject. One of the choicest speci- 
mens of it we have ever heard is that of gardeners 
in Germany, who collect and bury grubs in order to 
destroy them ; a mode of destruction quite as fatal 
as that of throwing fish into the water to drown 
them. 

It would be easy to give some striking illustrations 
of the advantages of knowledge on this subject. The 
manner in which peach-trees are secured from the 
depredations of the insect which every year destroys 
many is familiarly known. The insect deposits its 
eggs in the bark of a tree, as nearly as possible 
to the surface of tlie ground. When it is obliged to 
resort to the branches, besides that it is more easily 
discovered by the gum which flows from the wound, 
the grub would generally be arrested by the cold 
before it could make its way to the root, where it 
retreats in winter. By ascertaining the time when 
these eggs are laid, and tying straw or matting round 
the trunk of the tree, its injuries are easily prevented. 
We are persuaded that the ravages of the clothes- 
10 



110 HABITS OF INSECTS. 

moth, the creature to whom food and raiment are 
one, might be prevented by exposing clothes to the 
light at the time of oviposition. When the timber 
was found to be perishing in the dock-yards of Swe- 
den, the king applied to Linnaeus to discover a 
remedy ; thus acknowledging the dependence of 
commerce, national defence, and royal power, upon 
humble scientific researches. He ascertained the 
time when the insect deposited its eggs ; and, by 
sinking the timber in water at that period, the evil 
was effectually prevented. 

We certainly receive many serious injuries at the 
hands of the insect race. But they are not wholly 
unprovoked ; nor can it be denied, that, if they tor- 
ment us, we also torment them. It is to be hoped 
that the time will come when we shall be able to deal 
with them as with larger animals, exterminating those 
which cannot be ismployed in the service of man. 
At present, however, their ingenuity, their perseve- 
rance, and their numbers, render it hopeless for man 
to make any general crusade against them. But we 
have little to complain of, compared with the inhabi- 
tants of warmer climates. Dr. Clarke tells us, that 
in the Crimea he found the moschettoes so venomous, 
that, in spite of gloves and every other defence, he 
was one entire wound. In a sultry night he sought 
shelter in his carriage ; they followed him there ; and 
when he attempted to light a candle, they extinguished 
it by their numbers. In South America there are 
countless varieties ; some pursue their labors by day, 
and others by night ; they form different strata in the 
air ; and new detachments relieve guard as fast as 



HABITS OF INSECTS. Ill 

the former are exhausted. Humboldt tells us, that 
near Rio Unare, the wretched inhabitants bury them- 
selves in the sand, all excepting the head, in order to 
sleep : we should think that, in such a condition, they 
Avould be sorely tempted to make no exception. 
Even this is not so great an evil as the destruction 
made by the white ants among papers of all descrip- 
tions. The same authority mentions, that there are 
no documents of any antiquity spared by this de- 
stroyer : it invades the tenure of property, the dura- 
tion of literature, the record of history, and all the 
means of existence and improvement, by which civil 
society is held together. It is melancholy enough to 
see gardens, fields, and forests, sinking into dust ; 
but we must confess that this last calamity quite ex- 
ceeds all others. 

Millions of insects infest our gardens. The plant- 
lice cover the leaves and draw out their juices, so 
that they wither and fall. The ants compel these 
aphides to give up to them what they have plundered 
from the tree. These insects, the aphides, are so 
small, that they would seem to have no great power 
to do harm : still, as there are twenty generations in 
a year, " the son can finish what his short-lived sire 
begun." Our ornamental plants thus lose all their 
beauty ; tortrices roll up their leaves ; leaf-cutter 
bees shear out their patterns ; and the mysterious 
rose-bugs pour in numbers faster than man can de- 
stroy them, in the proportion of ten to one. The 
honey-dew, which formerly occasioned so much 
speculation, concerning which Pliny could not say 
positively whether it was the sweat of heaven or the 



112 HABITS OF INSECTS. 

saliva of the stars, is now known to be the secretion 
of an insect, instead of falling from the skies. If man 
had sense enough to prevent the destruction of birds, 
there might be less reason to complain that the labors 
of the garden are so often rewarded with no more 
substantial result than vanity and vexation. 

The animals in our service suffer even more from 
insects than ourselves, and nothing effectual can be 
done to prevent it. After the horse has been irritated 
almost to madness by the fly, the tabaiius (horse-fly) 
comes to bleed him, as if to prevent the effects of his 
passion. This service is rendered the horse sorely 
against his will ; but he fears nothing so much as the 
horse-bee : the animal is violently agitated when one 
of these is near him ; if he be in the pasture, he gal- 
lops away to the water, where his persecutor dares 
not follow him. Every rider knows what a desperate 
enemy he has in the forest-fly, a creature difficult to 
kill, though it holds life in so light esteem, that it 
prefers death to quitting its hold. An insect similar 
to the horse-bee takes the ox under his special keep- 
ing, piercing him with an auger of very curious con- 
struction. But it is needless to mention particulars 
of this kind. It is enough to say, that there is no 
domestic beast or foAvl which is not tormented by 
some kind of insect, and generally more than one. 
The abodes of pigeons are always haunted by that 
ominous bug, which is such an enemy to the rest of 
man. But among these various injuries offered to 
man and the animals under his protection, — to whom 
his protection in this instance does but little good, — 
there are some examples of forbearance on the part 



HABITS OF INSECTS. 113 

of insects which deserve to be mentioned, as equally 
gratifying and unexpected. The insect which lays 
its eggs in peas deposits them, so that the grub may 
feed upon the pea after it ripens : the grub feeds 
accordingly, but shows such discretion in its opera- 
tions as not to injure the germ, even when it eats the 
pea to a shell. The caterpillars, also, which eat 
the leaves of the tree, spare the bud, so that its growth 
is not seriously injured. It may be well to mention, 
with respect to the former insect, that its presence is 
not always seen in the peas which it inhabits ; so that 
those who eat dried peas, Avhich are not split, may 
be gratified to learn, that they secure a large propor- 
tion of animal where they paid only for vegetable 
food. 

It is not necessary to go out of the house to learn 
the injuries which insects inflict on man ; who, if he 
be the lord of creation, has some refractory sub- 
jects, and some which utterly defy his power. A 
great proportion of these domestic inmates have no 
Christian names : whoever speaks of them is obliged 
to resort to the learned nomenclature. Flour and 
meal are eaten by the grub of tenebrio molitor ; he 
will not give us the trouble of making it into bread 
for him ; though it is very acceptable to him after it 
has passed through the process of baking. The aca- 
rus farince, more moderate in his demands, is content 
to feed on old or damaged flour. The dermesles pa- 
mcews leads a seafaring life, solely for the luxury of 
feeding upon sea-biscuit : the more hearty grubs 
of dermestes and tenebrio lardarius can live upon no 
lighter food than dried meats and bacon. Fresh 

10* 



114 HABITS OF INSECTS. 

meat, however, is always in demand, not only by 
the flesh-fly, but the wasp and hornet ; and all these 
have a sweet tooth, and make a practice of eating 
large quantities of sugar. Butter and lard are eaten 
by crambus pingidnalis ; the cheese maggot, so 
renowned for his unexampled powers of still- 
vaulting, lives upon new cheese ; but the more epi- 
curean acai'us siro Avill not touch it till it is mouldy. 
The musca ceUaris drinlis our vinegar ; Avhile the 
oinopota cellaris, strong in the cause of temper- 
ance, rejects ardent spirits, and drinks nothing but 
wine. 

There are some valetudinarian bugs which con- 
sume large quantities of drugs and medicines ; 
though, so far as we can learn, their custom is little 
in request by the apothecaries. The sinodendrum 
piisillum takes rhubarb ; there is a kind of beetle 
which eats musk ; and the white ants are well known 
to be in the habit of chewing opium. Some are fond 
of dress. The clothes-moth is so retired in its habits 
that we know little concerning it, except that it eats 
our clotlies in summer. The tapetzella feeds on the 
lining of carriages ; the pelHonella chooses furs, and 
shaves them clean ; the meloneUa eats wax, and, in 
seasons of scarcity, submits to eat leather or paper. 
There are hundreds which live on wood ; one of 
which, a cerambijx, after eating through the wooden 
roof, forces his way through the lead. Some have a 
literary turn. The crambus pinguinalis, like some 
literary gentlemen, regards books only with an eye 
to the binding. Another, called the learned mite, 
acarus eruditus, eats the paste that fastens the paper 



HABITS OP INSECTS. 115 

over the edges of the binding. Another, whose 
name Ave have never learned, gets between the 
leaves, and devours them ; while the anobium., an 
industrious little beetle, determined to make himself 
thoroughly acquainted with the contents of the work, 
goes quietly from the beginning to the end. We are 
told that one of them, in a public library in France, 
went through twenty-seven volumes in a straight line, 
so that, on passing a cord through, the whole were 
lifted at once. The beetle deserves credit for this 
remarkable exploit, being probably the only living 
creature who had ever gone through the book. 

To those who resent these injuries, it may be con- 
soling to know, that the means of ample vengeance 
are within their reach ; and, if they choose to follow 
the example of those who kill and eat insects, the 
insects will certainly have the worst of the war. 
The Arabs, as is well known, eat locusts Avith great 
relish, though, for reasons not certainly founded 
upon the disparity of outward favor, they look Avith 
abhorrence upon crabs and lobsters. The Hotten- 
tots also delight to have locusts make their appear- 
ance, though they eat every green thing ; calculating, 
with some foresight, that, as they shall eat the lo- 
custs, they shall not be losers in the long-run. This 
people, who are far from fastidious in any of their 
habits, also eat ants boiled, raAv, or roasted after the 
manner of coffee ; and those who can overcome 
the force of prejudice, so far as to try the experi- 
ment, confess that they are extremely good eating. 
Kirby, the English naturalist, bears testimony to 
this effect. Smeathman says, " I have eaten them 



116 HABITS OF INSECTS. 

dressed in this way, and think them dehcate, nour- 
ishing, and wholesome. They are something sweeter, 
though not so cloying, as the maggot of the palm- 
tree snout-beetle, which is served up at the tables of 
the West Indian epicures, particularly the French, 
as one of the greatest luxuries of the country." * 
In parts of Europe, the grubs of some of the beetles 
are highly esteemed ; the cerambyx is the delight of 
the blacks in the Islands ; the inhabitants of New 
Caledonia are partial to spiders. Equidem non in- 
video, miror magis. It is highly probable, that a 
large proportion of insects Avere intended by Provi- 
dence for food ; and, if we will not eat them, it is 
unreasonable to complain of their numbers. 

Having said so much of the injuries occasioned by 
insects, lest we should excite too strong a prejudice 
against them, — a prejudice which they have no 
personal attractions to balance or remove, — it be- 
comes a duty to mention some benefits, for which 
we axe indebted to them. The list of these benefits 
is large already ; and scientific research, aided by 
popular curiosity, will before many years extend it 
much beyond its present bounds. It Avill be a happy 
day for the insects, when their good quahlies are 
known. The bee that sails with so much airy inde- 
pendence through our gardens, perfectly satisfied 

* A learned foreigner, with whom we lately conversed upon the subject, 
gave us the following account of his method of treating these insects. When- 
ever in his walks he meets with an ant-hill, he immediately approaches it with 
the end of his wallsing-stick. The ants come out in great numbers, some to 
reconnoitre, and some for the mere pleasure of the excursion. When the stick 
is pretty well covered with them, he draws it through his lips, and secures tliem 
all. He describes the taste as cool and sourish, not unlike that of the plant 
sorrel. 



HABITS OF INSECTS. 117 

that they were planted for its benefit alone, Avould 
find httle protection in its familiar manners and 
brilliant dress, were it not able to lay man under 
obligations. The silk-Avorm, which is now cherished 
Avith so much care, would be rejected Avith disgust, 
like other caterpillars of the garden, were it not able 
to pay for protection by its labor. Those that de- 
pend upon the charity of man find but little quarter. 
It is in vain that Shakspeare assures us, that the pain 
of the trampled insect equals that of the suffering 
giant ; in vain that CoAvper implores us not need- 
lessly to crush a Avorm : unless they can make it for 
man's interest to protect them, they have little for- 
bearance to hope for. The man of science, there- 
fore, Avho discovers and points out their uses, is 
certainly a friend to the bugs. 

Generally speaking, insects do the duty of scav- 
engers. In our climate, they are useful in this 
capacity ; but their labors here are nothing, com- 
pared Avith their exploits in warmer countries, Avhich, 
if they are uncomfortable Avith them, would be un- 
inhabitable Avithout them. Whenever a carcase falls 
in our climate, the insects move to it in air-lines : 
beetles of all descriptions, Avasps, hornets, and flies, 
lay aside all miinor differences, and engage in the 
Avork of removing it. The flesh-fly deposits in it its 
grub, already hatched, that it may lose no time ; 
and as this last-named insect has a promising family, 
— a single parent producing more than tAventy thou- 
sand young, Avhich eat so plentifully as to add two 
hundred fold to their Aveight in tAventy-four hours, — 
the nuisance is soon abated. In Avarmer countries, 



118 HABITS OF INSECTS. 

this operation is carried on with miraculous expedi- 
tion : before the air can be tainted by the savor of 
corruption, the flesh is removed, and nothing remains 
but the bones whitening in the sun. They do a still 
greater service to men in removing dead vegetable 
matter. They generally prefer animal food; but, as 
they are not able to procure it oftener than an Irish 
peasant, they all, moschettoes among the rest, con- 
tent themselves with vegetable substances. Great 
numbers of the flesh-fly are imposed upon by plants 
similar to the skunk cabbage. Supposing, from their 
peculiar fragrance, that they are flesh in that particu- 
lar state of decay, which epicures delight in, the 
insects deposit their eggs upon them ; and, when 
the young are hatched, they discover the mistake, 
quite too late to repair it. Reaumur thinks that we 
are indebted to this fly for making it a point of con- 
science not to eat the flesh of living animals ; he tried 
the experiment, and found that they unanimously 
refused to touch the flesh of a living pigeon. It is a 
pity that naturalists should not learn humanity from 
so excellent an example. 

It is not necessary to explain to our readers, that 
we are indebted to insects for silk and hoiiey ; the 
latter having been used from the earliest ages, and 
the former promising to be used as extensively in 
our country before many years. It is fully ascer- 
tained, that om* climate is favorable to the silk-worm, 
and to the plant on which it lives ; and it is not the 
habit of our countrymen to neglect any opportunity 
of securing comfort or gain. On the contrary, they 
are more in need of learning from the insects their 



HABITS OF INSECTS. 119 

judicious habit of dividing labor ; for, the moment a 
channel of adventure is opened, they rush into it 
Avith a force which sometimes carries them far be- 
yond the end proposed. Here is a constant disposi- 
tion to bite the chains of nature ; and as he who 
ascends a staircase in the dark, if when he has reached 
the top he attempts to go higher, meets with a pain- 
ful sensation of disappointment, so do many of our 
countrymen injure themselves by attempting to draw 
from their chosen pursuit more than nature ever 
intended it to give. There is no question, that the 
manufacture of silk will be greatly and rapidly ex- 
tended ; and the result will be not to increase luxury, 
but to change what is now a luxury into a necessary 
of life. Time was when stockings were a luxury : 
now they are worn by the beggars of our country. 
It is upon record, that a king borroAved a pair of 
silk stockings for a public occasion : here they may 
be found in the possession of those who, unlike the 
lilies of the field, both toil and spin. 

We are indebted to insects for the ink-powder, an 
article important in all professions, but indispensable 
in om-s. It is formed by a cynips on the quercus 
infectoj'ia, a sort of shrub-oak which grows in Asia 
and Africa, Avhence the galls are constantly exported. 
The insect bores the bark, and deposits an egg. It 
is generally thought to insert some corrosive fluid 
with it, which, as the sap flows out from the wound, 
gives its color and properties to the gall, that grows 
and swells round the egg for the young insect's 
future home. There is some difference of opinion 
as to this process. Mr. Rennie suggests, that the 



120 HABITS OF INSECTS. 

egg may be protected or coated with gluten, which 
prevents the escape of the sap : the sap, thus con- 
lined, pushes out the pellicle of gluten that covers it, 
till the opening is closed by being hardened in the 
air. This will account for the uniform size of these 
productions. The galls of the rose and willow are 
well known ; the gall of commerce is as large as a 
marble. This furnishes a comfortable dwelling for 
the young insect, and a dye for those streams of ink 
which are perpetually flowing in the civilized Avorld 
for libel or literature, for evil or good. They are 
also used in dying : those which contain the insect 
being called blue gall-nuts ; those which it has aban- 
doned, white. An insect inhabitant of the oak, coc- 
cus ilicis, was formerly used in dying red. In modern 
times, cochineal, coccus cacti, is generally used. The 
Spaniards found it employed by the Americans, when 
they came over to this country. It was supposed to 
be a vegetable production ; and it was not, till a 
period comparatively late, discovered to be a living 
thing. It feeds on the nopal, a kind of fig-tree com- 
mon in New Spain and some parts of India. The 
inhabitants preserve them in their houses through the 
rainy season, and, when it is over, place them upon 
the tree, which they soon cover. They are after a 
time brushed from the tree with the tail of a squirrel ; 
and, being killed either by artificial heat or exposure 
to the sun, the inside is found filled with the red dust 
which forms this splendid color. So important is 
this article in commerce, that the East India Com- 
pany offered a reward of six thousand pounds to any 
one who should succeed in naturalizing it in their 



HABITS OF INSECTS. 121 

territories. Another insect of this description carries 
on a manufacture of unexampled extent and variety, 
being actually employed in supplying the demands 
of the world for shell-lac, beads, sealing-wax, lake, 
lacquer, and grindstones. The insect covers trees of 
the fig-kind, in Hindostan, in such a manner that 
their upper branches look as if they had been dipped 
in blood. The substance in its natural state, before 
it is separated from the twig, is called stick-lac, from 
which all the others are made. After being separated, 
pounded, and having the color extracted by water, 
it is called seed-lac ; when melted into cakes, it is 
called lump-lac ; when purified and transparent, it 
is the shell-lac, which is so extensively used. It is 
used by the natives to make rings, necklaces, and 
bracelets ; mixed with cinnabar, it is formed into 
sealing-wax ; heated, and mingled with a black pow- 
der, it forms a lacquer, or japan ; and the coloring 
substance extracted from the stick-lac is the lake of 
our painters. Last, but not least, of its uses, it is 
mixed up with river-sand, and moulded into grind- 
stones. Truly, it is no easy matter to name the crea- 
ture which answers such a variety of purposes as 
this. 

Reaumur undertook the benevolent enterprise of 
civilizing spiders, by way of turning them into opera- 
tives, and thereby bringing them into better odor 
with man ; but his good purpose was disappointed ; 
for, though they fully proved that they were able to 
work, they had an unfortunate propensity for eating 
each other, which proved to be inconsistent with the 
virtues and charities of industrious and social life. 
11 



122 HABITS OF INSECTS. 

Their powers as artisans were very respectable ; but 
no inducement could be brought to bear upon them : 
as for working for a living, it was the last thing they 
thought of; for some of them lived a year without 
tasting food, or seeming in the least exhausted by 
fasting. This indifference to common wants is one 
of the most remarkable things in the character of the 
race : they never seem to repine under any degree 
of pain or privation. They are probably mortal ; 
but it seems almost impossible to kill them. Bees 
will live many hours under water : caterpillars are 
frozen up through the winter, and bear it with the 
utmost composure. Dr. Dwight tells us of a beetle 
which was planed out of a table where he had re- 
sided, if we remember rightly, eighty years without 
a dinner. Dr. Arnold once had an insect, which, 
after the tender-hearted manner of collectors, was 
pinned down to a table : some other insects happen- 
ing to be within reach, it proceeded to eat them with 
as good an appetite as ever it had in its life. Some 
beetles have been soaked in boiling water, without 
being oppressed by the heat. Many insects have a 
way of pretending to be dead, as a sort of hint to 
man, that if, as usual, he is disposed to kill them, he 
may spare himself the trouble. If any one is disposed 
to ascertain whether their death is counterfeited or 
not, they will not flinch, even Avhen torn asunder, 
or thrown on burning coals. Some, even when cut 
in two, retain the easy indifference which they mani- 
fest on most other occasions. Many of our readers 
have probably seen ants cut from a hollow tree in 
spring, and, though they must have passed many 



HABITS OF INSECTS. 123 

months without food, regain their cheerfulness in the 
sun. The ant, however, is torpid through the colder 
parts of the winter. Our ants, though, like those of 
Scripture, they are models of industry, have not the 
forethought to provide for the winter. But it may 
be, that in warmer climates they have this prudent 
habit, for which they have been so long held out as 
an example. 

It is fair to say, that, in cases where insects are 
troublesome, they are sometimes less injurious than 
is supposed, and the blame does not invariably fall 
on the one that deserves it. It is thought that the 
irritating insects, particularly those that draw blood 
from domestic animals in summer, are necessary to 
their health, — to save them from the diseases which 
would be otherwise occasioned by heat and repletion. 
In the household, too, it is no misfortune that they 
enforce the duty of perpetual cleanliness ; and it is 
well known, that, as in the case of moschettoes, a 
little attention may reduce the number and incon- 
venience of their visitations. We are told, — and it 
may be well to mention it in this connection, — that 
the house-fly does not, as is commonly supposed, 
abuse the familiarity which man allows him. He is 
harmless and friendly in his disposition, and more- 
over cannot bite if he would. His proboscis is soft 
and sponge-like, altogether unable to inflict a wound. 
This is the musca domesiica ; but there is another 
kind which exactly resembles him in person, except 
in having a sharp proboscis, with which he bites pretty 
seriously ; he is luiown by the name of sionioxys 
calcitrans. This is not the only case in which pub- 



124 HABITS OF INSECTS. 

lie resentment confounds the innocent Avith the 
guilty. 

Our respect, if not our regard, for insects will be 
materially increased, if we consider some evidences 
and examples of their power. Happily, they have 
not often a common interest sufficiently strong to 
organize them into parties or coalitions, and, there- 
fore, do not generally combine their forces to much 
effect ; but there have been cases in which they have 
made man tremble. We are told, that in ancient 
times, when Sapor, king of Persia, was besieging 
Nisibis, the light artillery of an army of moschettoes 
fell upon him with so much fury, that he raised the 
siege, and retreated with all possible expedition. But 
anciently they had so much faith in these things, that 
now we have very little. Still, we have seen a man 
fly from the wrath of a bee ; and we can conceive, 
that, in this case, it is possible that the larger size of 
man may have been overborne by the numbers and 
valor of the moschettoes, and thus the battle have 
gone against the strong. But there are facts, modern 
and undoubted, which show how formidable insects 
can be. A small beetle has appeared regularly in 
the German forests : in 1783, there were more than 
a million and a half of trees destroyed by them, and 
more than eighty thousand were counted in a single 
tree. We are told by aged men, that, many years 
ago, an insect made such ravages in the oaks of New 
England, that their case seemed as hopeless as that 
of the locusts is now. On the third year of their 
appearance, a heavy frost in May, which was very 
destructive to vegetation, put a period to the ravages 



HABITS OF INSECTS. 125 

of the insect ; and it has not made its appearance in 
any force again. Wilson, the ornithologist, as quoted 
by Mr. Rennie, gives an account of the devastation 
made at the South by a small insect, which had 
hardly spared ten trees in a hundred on a tract of 
two thousand acres. " Would it be believed," he 
says, " that the larvse of an insect no bigger than a 
grain of rice should silently, and in one season, des- 
troy some thousand acres of pine-trees, many of them 
from two to three feet in diameter, and a hundred 
and fifty feet high ? In some places, the whole 
woods, as far as you can s§e around you, are dead, 
stripped of the bark, their wintry-looking arms and 
bare trunks bleaching in the sun, and tumbling in 
ruins before every blast." In the last century, an 
insect, formica saccharivora, attacked the sugar-cane 
plantations in the island of Granada, so fatally as to 
put an entire stop to cultivation. They covered the 
roads and fields ; they killed rats and mice by thou- 
sands ; Avhen large fires were made to consume them, 
they crowded on till they extinguished them by their 
numbers. The whole crop was burnt, and the ground 
dug up, but all to no purpose : human power could 
do nothing. A reward of tAventy thousand pounds 
was offered to any one who would discover a 
remedy ; but they were not even checked, till, in 
1780, they were destroyed by torrents of rain. Dob- 
rizhoffer gives a curious account of the ants in Para- 
guay. He says, that they make burrows in the earth 
with infinite labor, under houses and larger build- 
ings, forming large winding galleries in the ground. 
On the approach of rain, as if knowing what to 
11* 



126 



HABITS OF INSECTS. 



expect, the ants take wing and fly away. The wa- 
ter rushes into their caverns ; and, undermining the 
building, it falls in total ruin. He mentions, that 
the ground on Avhich his church and house were 
built was full of those caverns. For many days, in 
rainy weather, the altar was rendered useless ; for 
the ants flew out, and fell upon the priests and every 
thing around. Ten outlets by Avhich they escaped 
from the ground were closed ; but the next day it 
was found, that they had opened twice as many more. 
One evening there came a severe thunder-storm, in 
the midst of which the Indian who had the care of the 
church came to warn them that its walls were begin- 
ning to crack and lean : he snatched a lamp and ran 
to the place, but sunk up to the shoulders in a pit 
like a cellar, Avhich, as soon as he was drawn out of 
it, he found was the house of the ants. As fast as 
the Indians shovelled earth into it, they dug it out. 
These are their greater exploits. Their ordinary 
employment is to go in an endless procession to the 
place where grain is deposited, and to carry off" 
bushels in a day or a moonlight night. They strip 
trees of their leaves, and reap fields as clean as the 
sickle. They will even attack men when sleeping, 
and, unless they escape at once, cover them with 
their painful stings ; and the only way of expelling 
them is by throwing lighted sheets of paper upon 
the swarm. This Jesuit was no naturalist : he once, 
as he tells us, pursued a skunk, and succeeded in 
getting more explicit information from the animal 
itself concerning its own value and properties than he 
could have wished, " horrendo odore." He does not 



HABITS OF INSECTS. 127 

enlighten us as to the kind of ant, but says that 
they are the kings of Paraguay ; and we doubt whe- 
ther Dr. Francia has been able to subdue them. 

The account of the white ants, or termites, was 
given to the world by Smeathman fifty years ago, 
and subsequent writers have added little to his infor- 
mation : the account, however, is sufficiently curious 
to bear repetition, since it affords the most remark- 
able example that can anywhere be found of ad- 
mirable instinct, perseverance, and power. BetAveen 
the tropics they are the most formidable enemy man 
has to encounter, destroying papers, provisions, fur- 
niture, and every thing, even to house and home. 
Metal, glass, and stone, they do not eat ; why, does 
not appear, except it be from a principle of forbear- 
ance equally touching and unexpected. They have 
been known to go up through one leg of a table, and 
return down the other, in the course of a single 
night. An engineer, in the same space of time, had 
his clothes, papers, and the lead of pencils, which 
were all, as he thought, secured in a trunk, eaten by 
these destroyers. When they attack a house, they 
eat away the heart of the timber, leaving only the 
outer shell ; but, being well aware that this process 
would soon bring the house about their ears, they 
fill the cavities as they advance with clay, which 
soon becomes hard as stone. Mr. Forbes remarks, 
that, in his house at Tobago, he observed one day 
that the glasses of some pictures were dull and the 
frames dusty. On attempting to wipe them, he 
found that the frames Avere plastered firmly to the 
wall by this sort of mortar, the ants having eaten the 



128 HABITS OF INSECTS. 

frames, back-boards, and most of the paper, leaving 
nothing but the prints and the gilding ; thinking per- 
haps, that, as the latter might be of some use to him, 
and could be of none to them, it was but just to 
spare them. They are as adroit in constracting their 
own habitations as in destroying those of man. They 
raise hills ten or twelve feet high, a work almost in- 
credible for a creature not more than a quarter of an 
inch long. The royal chamber is in the centre, and 
other cells and galleries are gradually multiplied 
around it. The whole fabric is so well constructed 
that the wild bulls sometimes make use of them for 
the purpose of observatories, and find them strong 
enough to bear their weight. If any one attack their 
habitation, they are at once ready to do battle. 
Smith gives us his opinion of their warlike power. 
He says, that he one day attempted to knock off the 
top of one of the hills. The insects within, hearing 
the noise, came out to see what was the matter ; upon 
which, he took to his heels, and ran away as fast as 
he could. They have been known to attack an Eng- 
lish ship of the line, and capture it by boarding. It 
is said, that the palace of the English governor- 
general in Calcutta is perishing under their opera- 
tions. The insects, perhaps, like some other people, 
have never been able to see distinctly the right by 
which he governs in their country : in superstitious 
times, this would be thought prophetic of the fate 
which awaits the British empire in India in some 
future day. 

There are some ants who have great aversion to 
labor ; and, in order to avoid the necessity of sup- 



HABITS OF INSECTS. 129 

porting themselves, they compel others to support 
them. This, however, it should be remarked, is not 
in this country, but in Europe: here, all know, that 
ants, as well as men, are born free and equal. The 
ant that carries on this trade, which is regarded as 
piracy by all civilized insects, is called the legionary, 
a name descriptive of its military habits ; the race 
which it reduces to bondage is a sort of negro. The 
legionaries march against a settlement of the black 
ants, take it by storm, and carry away their prisoners. 
The old ants they do not touch ; they prefer the 
young, whom they carry to their own home, and then 
train them to menial services of all descriptions. 
The natural consequence follows. They become 
too indolent and proud to work, and would starve 
were it not for their slaves ; thus creating the ne- 
cessity by which probably they would justify the 
practice. They do not lord it over their negroes ; 
on the contrary, they treat them with great kindness, 
and even respect ; the slaves are on the same footing 
as our slaves were formerly in New England, where 
they used to sit at table with the farmers, give their 
advice like oracles, and henpeck their owners in such 
a manner that it was a relief to have them set free. 
We trust that no one will use these accounts, now 
so unquestionably proved to be true, to show that 
the relation of slavery is not unnatural : the argument 
is no stronger than that in favor of royal government 
drawn from the practice of the bees, and employed 
by those who overlook the fact, that a state of civil 
society may do well enough for bees, without being 
adequate to the wants and improvement of man. 



130 HABITS OF INSECTS. 

There are other respects in which these insects may 
well be quoted as an example. Thus, we are told 
by Huber, that the female ants, when they become 
mothers of a family, cut off their wings and throw 
them away ; thinking, doubtless, that domestic cares 
and duties will leave them no time to fly round as 
in former days. 

The motions of insects are very curious, and some 
of them have occasioned much controversy and 
speculation. Apodous larvae have no occasion to 
take long journeys : their business confines them at 
home. They therefore make their way slowly, by 
gliding, jumping, or swimming, — ways sufficiently 
rapid for their purpose. The motion of serpents, in 
old time, was accounted very mysterious ; no one 
could tell how they moved so rapidly, without any 
visible means of walking ; and this was among the 
reasons which gained for them so much reverence in 
ancient times. Sir Everard Home at last discovered, 
that the points of their ribs were curiously con- 
structed for the purpose ; and in the same way it is 
probable that many things of the kind, which are 
now incomprehensible, will appear to be very simple. 
Some move by contracting the segments of their 
bodies ; others, like the larvae of flies, drag them- 
selves by hooks in the head, an operation as incon- 
venient as if a man should drag himself on the 
ground by his chin. Cheese-maggots fix their man- 
dibles in places on the table, and let them go with 
a jerk which sends them to a marvellous distance. 
Caterpillars climb very readily, but, for security, 
carry a ladder of ropes as they go ; sticking it to 



HABITS OF INSECTS. 131 

glass or any substance, however hard and smooth, 
on Avhich they happen to be ascending. They often 
have occasion to descend from branch to branch ; 
sometimes they are shaken by the wind or thrown 
with violence to the ground, in which case they take 
their rope with them, and by means of it re-ascend 
the tree. So, when they travel round the tree, they 
need a clue to conduct them back to the nest. When 
they move, they reach forward their necks as far as 
possible, fasten the thread, then bring up their body 
and take another step, a movement which may be 
seen in the canker-worm of our orchards. When 
they descend, they have power to contract the orifice 
through which they send out their thread, so as to 
let themselves gradually down. In climbing on the 
line, the caterpillar catches the thread as high as it 
can reach, pulls up its body, grasps the thread with 
its hindmost legs, and thus regains the tree from 
which it had fallen. When it has thus ascended, it 
is found to have a little ball of thread. 

The motion of flies was long a subject of debate 
and wonder. Some thought that they must have 
claws ; others, that they had glutinous sponges, an 
appendage which would not allow of rapid motion. 
Hooke was the first to observe that some curious 
mechanism must be employed ; but what it Avas he 
could not discover. He thought it might be some- 
thing resembling card-teeth, set opposite to each 
other, by which they could grapple some projecting 
places, such as they might find on the smoothest sur- 
faces. Durham thought it not unlikely that they 
stuck, as boys lift a lap-stone by a piece of wet 



132 HABITS OF INSECTS. 

leather attached to the top ; an explanation which 
amounted to nothing more than a confession of igno- 
rance ; since, though it might show how a fly could 
stick to a wall, the object was to show how they 
move on the wall. Sir Everard Home at last dis- 
covered, that it Avas done by producing a vacuum 
between the surface on which they walk and parts 
of the foot constructed for that purpose. There are 
two suckers connected with the last joint of the 
tarsus, and a narrow neck which moves in all direc- 
tions, under the root of each claw. These suckers 
consist of a contractile membrane, Avhich adapts 
itself to any surface. Had it been possible for the 
fly to communicate Avith men, the air-pump of Gue- 
ricke, and possibly our countryman Dr. Prince's im- 
provement upon it, might have been known to the 
world much sooner after it was created. There is a 
water-spider, also, which invented the diving-bell, 
and has used it to more purpose than men. It spins 
a shell of closely woven white silk, in the form of 
half a pigeon's egg, which forms the diving-bell. 
This is sometimes under, sometimes partly above, 
the surface of the water, and is lashed by threads to 
whatever happens to be near. It is closed all round, 
except an opening below. By this contrivance the 
spider carries air with it down to its submarine nest. 
To complete the catalogue of mathematical instru- 
ments, it is well known, that the gossamer spider 
ascends high into the air with its light thread, on the 
principle of the balloon. 

The movement of spiders in the air has always 
been regarded as a difficult matter to explain. Dr. 



HABITS OF INSECTS. 133 

Lister, the celebrated English naturalist, whose re- 
searches into the habits of spiders discovered almost 
all that is now known, believed that they had the 
power of shooting out threads in the direction in 
which they wished to go. Kirby also used the same 
language, speaking of the spider " shooting out his 
threads," not from carelessness of expression, but 
evidently meaning to be literally understood. White, 
of Selborne, gives the same account of the spider. 
This certainly is a great weight of authority in favor 
of this power in the spider ; but it is so unhke every 
thing with which we are acquainted, that we are na- 
turally suspicious of some mistake ; and we are glad 
to see that Mr. Rennie Mall not allow that the spider 
has a gift so much beyond the usual order of nature. 
There are those of no small pretensions as naturalists, 
who believe that the floating of the spider's thread is 
electrical, and maintain that it can dart its thread in 
the wind's eye. Whoever hastily observes them will 
be of the same opinion, with respect to the gossamer 
spider and some others. Within a few days, stand- 
ing in a shed, we saw a line of very small spiders 
coming down perpendicularly from the wall, each 
being apparently attached to a large thread by a 
smaller thread of its own. There were perhaps 
a hundred in the string. After having descended 
about eight or ten feet, the lowest came opposite to 
a door, where a light air was blowing in, and turned 
off in a direction almost horizontal towards the door. 
On looking very closely, we could discover no line 
beyond the leading spider ; but, on striking the hand 
between him and the wall, he immediately fell into 
12 



134 HABITS OF INSECTS. 

the perpendicular again. It is difficult to believe, 
that spiders have sufficient projectile force to dart 
out a thread of such a material to any considerable 
distance ; and the general opinion now is, that they 
depend wholly upon the hghtness of their thread and 
the agitation of the air. 

In the " Insect Miscellanies," Mr. Rennie discusses 
some curious subjects connected with insects, which 
were not embraced in the design of his former 
works. One is the manner in which insects are 
guided in their flight, not so much by their sight, as 
by the delicate nerves of their wings ; in this power 
resembling bats, which, as is proved by some humane 
experiments, can find their way as well without eyes 
as with them. Another is the sensibility of insects 
to changes of temperature. Mr. Rennie does not 
seem to think very highly of their observations of the 
weather. We had supposed that they equalled the 
most nervous invalid in their sensibility. Ants are 
known to secure their eggs against the rain ; and 
there seems to be no reason why spiders should not 
be equally accurate observers. There are flowers 
which foretell such changes; and, if such presages 
are necessary to the existence of the insect, doubtless 
their instinct supplies them. They probably are not 
much acquainted with causes and effects ; but in- 
stinct is the direct agency of a power which is not 
limited in its capacities. It is no acquaintance with 
the principles which govern the ordnance department, 
which induces the insect called the bombardier to 
discharge its artillery upon any insect which pursues 
it : it is frequently chased by other insects, and. 



HABITS OF INSECTS. 185 

instead of retreating, it Avaits till they come within 
point-blank shot, and then discharges its field-piece 
with a noise and smoke which to insects are truly 
alarming. In this way it will fire as many as twenty 
rounds ; and, when its ammunition is exhausted, if 
the pursuer is not repelled, the gunner will retreat to 
a shelter ; retiring, not with alarm, but with a very 
imposing front, like the Americans at Bunker Hill. 

Mr. Reimie adds to the curious particulars already 
known, concerning the manner in which grasshoppers 
produce and increase their sound : they apply the 
hind shank to the thigh, rubbing it smartly against 
the wing-case, and alternately the right and left legs. 
This fiddling, however, would not be heard at any 
great distance, were it not for a sort of drum at their 
side, which is formed with membranes suited to in- 
crease and echo the sound. The instrument upon 
which the male cricket plays — for, unlike the usual 
order of nature, the female is silent — is a pair of 
rough strings in the wing-cases, which they rub 
against each other. White, of Selborne, endeavored 
to naturalize field-crickets near his house, and Mr. 
Rennie to introduce house-crickets to his hearth : 
both were unsuccessful, the insects probably having 
doubts whether their first welcome would ripen into 
lasting hospitality. 

These are certainly very interesting works, and do 
credit to the " Library of Entertaining Knowledge," 
of which they form a part, as well as to the ability of 
Mr. Rennie as a naturalist and a writer. We do 
not expect sudden nor striking effects from thus mul- 
tiplying works of popular instruction ; but, when they 



136 HABITS OF INSECTS. 

are sown broad-cast, as they are in the present day, 
some will take root, and produce harvests which the 
world does not know. To supply means of happi- 
ness ; to inspire a taste and talent for observation ; 
to teach men to pass through the world, not as stran- 
gers, but as interested to know every thing about 
them, though it may not be so splendid a service as 
many other scientific exertions, is certainly the one 
which will give the philosopher his most enviable and 
enduring fame. 



137 



BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 



Ornithological Biography, or an Account of the Habits of the 
Birds of America ; accompanied by Descriptions of the Objects 
represented in the Work entitled the Birds of America, inter- 
spersed with Dehneations of American Scenery and Manners. 
By John James Audubon, F.H.SS. L. and E. &c. Philadel- 
pliia, 1831. 

Many years ago, the first wit of his day, representing 
the character and habits of John Bull, stated that, 
although he was peaceable in his disposition, and 
fully convinced of the fact that whosoever goeth to 
war must do it at his own charges, he did never- 
theless, if he heard the sound of a fray, however 
distant, rise from his warm bed at night, put on such 
clothing as came to hand, grasp his cudgel, and go 
forth to the scene of action, where he generally re- 
ceived a battering which would have cracked a 
crown less substantial. When this ceremony was 
over, the parties repaired to a tavern, where John, 
in consideration of receiving many praises for his 
valor, closed the concern by paying the bill, and 
departed extremely well satisfied with his own ex- 
ploits. This account, though meant for an individ- 
ual, describes to the life almost every war in which 
any country has been engaged for the last two cen- 

12* 



138 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 

turies ; and nations are growing so well persuaded of 
this, that the great body of the human race, who 
were formerly too happy to be permitted to die for 
the glory of one or two, now testify a strong reluct- 
ance to making themselves food for powder, without 
strong reasons for such a proceeding. This grand 
discovery on the part of the multitude, however 
auspicious to themselves, is exceedingly inconve- 
nient to those who are ambitious of fame. Happily 
other paths to distinction are still open, which are 
trodden with a zeal and spirit as resolute, and some- 
what more rational than ever was found in the 
bloodshod march of glory. Some esteem it a privi- 
lege to be frozen up during three quarters of the 
year, in the dead night-calm of a polar sea ; others 
spring forward to seize the fortunate chance of leav- 
ing their bones whitening on the sands, beneath the 
red heat of an African sun. Some are enchanted 
wiih the idea of tracing the course of rivers, which, 
according to the best authorities, have neither begin- 
ning nor end ; others can die contented when they 
have scaled the tops of mountains, where they stand 
petrified with cold, several inches higher than man 
ever stood before. Now, all this restless energy, 
Avithdrawn from the fields of war, is like the electric 
fluid, harmless and useful when diffused among the 
elements of nature, though so disastrous when con- 
centrated in the thunder-cloud. 

There are many men in the world sufficiently intel- 
lectual in their tastes, but too active in their habits to 
submit to quiet, literary labor. There are some 
whose minds can never exert themselves, except 



BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 139 

when their frame is in action ; and, doubtless, that 
employment is best suited to our nature, which 
engages at the same time the physical and intellec- 
tual powers. The pursuit in which the author of the 
work before us is of late so honorably distinguished 
is of this description : it combines within itself many 
circumstances which give it attraction ; it requires 
the self-complacent skill of a sportsman, and the wild 
romance of an adventurer ; it opens a field for the 
beautiful powers of an artist, and the fine discrimina- 
tion of a man of taste ; it adds the dignity of science 
to the exciting consciousness of danger. We do not 
wonder in the least, that the heart of such a man is 
bound up in it, nor that he should be willing to sac- 
rifice the ordinary comforts of life in his devotion to 
a pursuit which must be a happy one, because it 
requires the full and constant exertion of all his 
powers ; and in which, if he need any thing more 
than his own feeling to sustain him under his various 
difficulties and disappointments, he is sure to be fol- 
lowed, sooner or later, by the general applause of 
the world. But, in truth, he needs nothing more than 
the glowing inspiration within ; though many — wise 
persons too — would be as sorely puzzled to under- 
stand this self-supporting principle, as the Mississippi 
boatmen were to comprehend the miracle of Wilson's 
supporting life without whiskey. 

In the original constitution of things, it is wisely 
ordered, that happiness shall be found everywhere 
about us. We do not need to have a rock smitten, 
to supply this thirst of the soul. It is not a distant 
good ; it exists in every thing above, around us, and 



140 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 

beneath our feet ; and all we want is an eye to dis- 
cern, and a heart to feel it. Let any one fix his 
attention on a moral truth, and it spreads out and 
enlarges its dimensions beneath his view, till what 
seemed at first as barren a proposition as Avords could 
express appears like an interesting and glorious truth, 
momentous in its bearing on the destinies of men. 
And so it is with every material thing : let the mind 
be intently fixed upon it, and hold it in the light of 
science, and it gradually unfolds new wonders. The 
flower grows even more beautiful than when it first 
opened its golden urn, and breathed its incense on 
the morning air : the tree, Avhich was before thought 
of only as a thing to be cut down and cast into the 
fire, becomes majestic, as it holds its broad shield 
before the summer sun, or when it stands like a ship, 
with its sails furled and all made fast about it, in 
preparation for the winter storm. All things in 
nature inspire in us a new feeling ; and we begin to 
consider their fate and fortunes, their birth and decay, 
as resembling those of man. The truth is, that igno- 
rance and indifference are almost the same ; and we 
are sure to grow interested as fast as our knowledge 
extends, in any subject whatever. This explains 
how men of great ability are so engaged in what 
are often ignorantly regarded as little things ; how 
they can watch, with the gaze of a lover, to catch 
the glance of the small bird's wing, or listen to its 
song, as if it were the breath of a soul ; how the 
world and every thing in it looks so spiritually bright 
to them, when to others the bird is but a flying ani- 
mal, and the flower only the covering of a clod. It 



BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 141 

explains many things which are perfect mysteries to 
vulgar minds. For example, Wilson tells a friend, 
in one of his letters, that he sat down one evening to 
draw a mouse, and all the while the pantings of its 
little heart showed it to be in an agony of fear. He 
had intended to kill it ; but. Happening to spill a few 
drops of water where it was tied, it lapped them up 
eagerly, and looked up in his face with such an 
expression of supplicating terror, that it overcame 
his resolution, and he let it go. Here, we think, we 
hear some voice exclaiming, " The man was a fool ; " 
but we recommend to the speaker to wait awhile, 
seeing there may be different opinions respecting the 
party to which that generic name belongs. 

A devoted attachment, like this, to the works of 
nature is an evidence of delicacy and refinement ; 
and we have cited this incident to show that the 
common prejudice which regards it as inconsistent 
with energy of thought and action is entirely un- 
founded ; for, assuredly, the radiant files of war can 
show no spirits more resolute than those of the men 
who leave the abodes of civilized life, launch their 
canoes on unbroken waters, depend on their rifle for 
subsistence, keep on their solitary march till the bird 
has sung his evening hymn, and have no society 
at night but the beating sound of their fire. Nei- 
ther is it inconsistent with a strict regard to all the 
duties of life : on the contrary, it is the part of duty 
to draw happiness from these sources, which, in all 
the changes and misfortunes of life, will never cease 
to flow. The poet Gray, one of the most intellec- 
tual and fastidious of men, says, " Happy they who 



142 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 

can create a rose-tree, or erect a honey-suckle ; 
Avho can watch the brood of a hen, or a fleet of their 
own duckhngs as they sail upon the water." The 
words are true as inspiration ; and we recommend 
them to our readers, of whom a due proportion, 
no doubt, are miserable. They will learn from 
them what is of great importance to know in such 
calculations, — that their unhappiness is owing, not 
to the want of pleasures, but to their not understand- 
ing how to select and enjoy those which they pos- 
sess, or, we may say, those which all possess, since 
they are given freely and impartially to all, so that 
no avarice can monopolize them, and no oppression 
take them away. This being the case, those who 
point out to us the extent and variety of such re- 
sources, and show by their own example how full, 
rich, and inspiring they are, deserve to be recorded 
among the benefactors of mankind. No greater 
treasures can be offered to human desire than enjoy- 
ments like these, which at once exercise the mind 
and improve the heart, repel the influence of sordid 
passions, and encourage the suggestions of humanity, 
virtue, and religion. Men do Avell to secure them, 
even if, in order to do it, they must sacrifice some 
other objects of ambition ; for their drafts upon the 
applause of future ages may be dishonored, and dis- 
appoint them of renown. The gold which they have 
collected, perhaps by such means that they had bet- 
ter drunk it melted from the crucible, may fall from 
their grasp as the fires consume and the floods drown : 
but these pleasures are always within their reach ; 
they do not lose their charm in the hours of anxiety 



BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 143 

and sorrow ; and those Avho possess them have the 
satisfaction of knowing, that they will last as long as 
the soul. 

But we have little hope of convincing men of the 
truth of these things : it is less hopeless to undertake 
to show them what is for the interest of others than 
what is for their own. We can therefore state with 
confidence to the rich, that it would be much for the 
interest of their children, of the society in which they 
live, and of science and literature in general, if they 
would buy this work with its magnificent illustra- 
tions. "We are not so visionary as to expect that 
they will all read it themselves : wealth and taste do 
not invariably go together. We recommend it as a 
favor to others, and at the same time would suggest, 
that such acts of munificence come with much more 
grace from the living hand than from the last will ; 
for men are seldom grateful to those who do not 
give till they can keep no longer. They ascribe 
whatever they receive in this way to the charity of 
death, and not of the dead. When a man has given 
up other employments and other prospects, to devote 
himself to a pursuit like this ; when he has spent days 
of toil and nights of danger to accomplish a purpose 
which he feels entitles him to encouragement and 
applause, it is not refreshing to be told, that he may 
spread out his treasures on the pages of a magazine, 
for the recompense of a dollar an acre ; or that he 
may have the privilege of publishing, if he will ad- 
vance a few thousands. He has no resource in such 
a case, except to give up the favorite wish and long 
devotion of his heart and life, or to range througli 



144 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 

the United States, as Wilson did, to find two hun- 
dred subscribers among ten milhon people ; an em- 
ployment hopeless and humiliating enough to break 
a tin pedlar's heart. The great work of Mr. Audu- 
bon is such an one as could not probably, under any 
circumstances, have been published in this country ; 
and we rejoice that he was so kmdly encouraged and 
welcomed in the home of our fathers. But, since 
much talent is likely to be tm-ned in this direction, 
of which the benefits may be lost for want of just 
rewards, we wish it were possible to hold out induce- 
ments large enough to satisfy reasonable expectations, 
and to reflect honor on our great and growing coun- 
try. We regret to see, that Mr. Nuttall, in his val- 
uable work on the birds of the United States, which 
will demand a more extended notice when it is 
completed, was compelled to restrict himself in the 
number of his illustrations by the expense of obtain- 
mg them, fearing lest an increased price of the work 
would interfere with its circulation. We hope that 
no apprehension of this kind will prevent his giving 
colored illustrations of every subject he describes, in 
the larger work which he proposes to publish at a 
future tune. Without being very costly or elegant, 
they may be exact enough to answer the purpose 
of the reader, if not to satisfy the delicate taste of 
the connoisseur. Not one in a hundred of those 
Avho are really interested in these subjects know a 
bird, an insect, or a flower, by its scientific distinc- 
tions ; and a work of the kind must be suited to 
all who have any taste for the study, as Avell as 
those who aim at a thorough knowledge of it, or 



BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 145 

it can have no great circulation in a country like 
ours. 

It is surprising to see how few of all the birds 
which annually visit us are known by name, and 
how little their habits are understood. Most natives 
of New England are acquainted with the bluejay, 
one of the earliest of our visitors, who comes sound- 
ing his penny trumpet as a herald of the spring, and 
either amuses himself by playing pranks upon other 
more serious birds, or entertains them by acting, to 
the life, the part of an angry Frenchman. Every 
miller and vagrant fisherman knows the belted king- 
fisher, who sits for hours upon his favorite dead 
branch, looking Avith his calm, bright eye to the 
lowest depth of the waters. The robin also makes 
himself welcome, not only by the tradition of the 
kindness shown by his European relation to the chil- 
dren in the wood, but by his hearty whistle, lifted 
up as if he knew that all would be thankful to hear 
that the whiter is over and gone, and his familiarity 
with man, whereby he shoAvs his behef, that they 
who least deserve confidence are sometimes made 
better by being trusted. The solemn crow, who is 
willing to repose the same confidence in man, talving 
only the additional precaution of keeping out of his 
reach ; the quizzical bobolink, or ricebunting, who 
tells man, in so many words, that he cares nothing 
about him, — not he ; the swallow, that takes his 
quarters in our barns, or the one that passes up and 
dow^n our chimneys Avith a noise hke thunder ; the 
purple martin, that offers to pay his house-rent by 
keepmg insects from our gardens ; the snoAv-bird, 
13 



146 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 

that comes riding from the arctic circle upon the whi- 
ter storm ; and the bahimore, or golden-robin, that 
glances like a flame of fire through the green caverns 
of foliage, — will almost complete the list of those 
which are familiarly known to man. 

We say familiarly known, because there are many 
which people in general think they know, and which 
are yet sadly misrepresented. The farmer, for ex- 
ample, accuses the woodpecker of boring his trees, 
when he only enlarges with his bill the hole which 
the grub had made, and, darting in his long arrowy 
tongue, puts a stop to its mining for ever. Many a 
poor bird, in like manner, after having slain his thou- 
sands of insects which were laying waste the orchard 
and the garden, is sentenced to death as guilty of 
the very offences Avhich he has been laboriously pre- 
venting. There are few scenes in which justice is 
so completely reversed as Avhen we see some idle 
young knave permitted to go forth with a fowling- 
piece to murder creatures, of which it is not too 
much to say, that they have done more good in the 
world (it is a bold speech, we confess) than ever he 
will do evil, and applauded for his exploits by his 
old father, who, in rejoicing ignorance, congratulates 
himself on having a son so efficient and useful. We 
hear complaints annually from all parts of the United 
States, that some insect or another is destroying the 
fruit, and proposing to oifer a large reward to any 
one who will discover a remedy. Lest we should 
be anticipated in our design, we would say that Ave 
mean to contend for that prize, and to secure the 
orchards and gardens by protecting the birds, and 



BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 147 

offering a handsome bounty for the ears of those 
Avho shoot them. Kalm tells us, that the planters in 
Virginia succeeded at last, by legislative enactment, 
in exterminating the little croAv, and exulted much 
on the occasion. But it was not long before their 
triumph was changed to mourning. They found 
that the acts had been passed for the benefit of 
insects, not their own ; and they would gladly have 
offered a larger bounty to bring back the persecuted 
birds. We shall not plead for the crow, who is fully 
able to take care of himself; but Ave must file a pro- 
test against the practice of destroying the birds of 
the garden ; for, besides depriving us of the beauty 
of their appearance and the music of their song, it 
lets in a flood of insects, whose numbers the birds 
were commissioned to keep doAvn ; and when we 
find this evil growing year by year, as most assu- 
redly it Avill, there Avill be little consolation in reflect- 
ing that we have brought it upon ourselves. 

The song of birds is not much better known than 
their habits and persons. We have been assured by 
several individuals, that they have heard the mocking- 
bird in Massachusetts ; and, in some instances, Ave 
thought it probable from their description that they 
Avere correct, though this bird is seldom found in so 
high a latitude ; but, in other cases, Ave were con- 
vinced that they had been listening to the perform- 
ance of the cat-bird. Most persons Avould as soon 
expect to hear the cat herself uplifting her voice in 
melody ; but the poAvers of this bird are by no means 
confined to the mew and squeal. Though sadly 
afraid of man, and Avhh sufficient reason, he is a 



148 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 

fine singer, a great wag, and in mimicry is not far 
inferior to the mocking-bird ; but he has so little 
peace of mind that he seldom dares to let us know 
where he is by his note, till after the fall of even- 
ing or before the dawn. "We venture to predict, 
that, in the month of May, strangers Avill hear from 
the windows of the Tremont House a delicious note 
that seems to proceed from some singing leaf of 
the topmost tree in that mall which bore the once- 
distinguished name of Paddock, — a hero who has 
almost perished from the traditions of narrative old 
age. He will hear it rising high above the hack- 
man's whistle and the rattling wheel. Few will be 
able to tell him more than that the sound proceeds 
from a bird ; while the warbler, and his brother of 
the red eye, will sing on, in happy indifference both 
to the attention and neglect of man. But their favors 
will not be confined to the city : they will be heard 
in the country from the broad arm of the elm that 
overhangs the cottage door, singing on at morning, 
noon, and night, with a taste and science that fill 
other listening birds Avilh admiration and despair. 
There is another bird, Avell known by the name of 
the brown thrasher, whose musical talent is but little 
understood. It is said that he is called the French 
mocking-bird at the South ; and we have heard that 
name given to him here, not on account of his imita- 
tions, but the extent and variety of his powers. He 
has no ambition to display himself to the sight of 
man ; but he excites the astonishment of all who hear 
him, by the luxurious fulness of his song. How 
many have ever seen the crimson linnet, as he sits 



BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 149 

playing the flute on the very summit of the loftiest 
tree, sometimes sinking his strain almost to silence, 
then pouring it out in bursts of rapture ? It is com- 
mon to say, that beauty of plumage and sweetness 
of song are not found together. It may be true, 
that they are seldom united in the highest perfection ; 
but every child knows, that the clear piping of the 
baltimore, and the varied whistle of the goldfinch, 
are as pleasant to the ear as their fine colors are to 
the eye ; and the brilliant redbird, which sometimes 
visits New England, is not more distinguished for 
the bright scarlet of his dress than for the sweet and 
bold expression of his song. 

There is so much that inspires curiosity about the 
various tribes of birds, that it is difficult to account 
for this contented ignorance of their ways, in Avhich 
so many spend their lives. When the snows retreat 
to the mountains, the friendly voice of the robin, 
telling us that he is glad to see us all again, has a 
magical effect upon every one : it calls the heart and 
memory into action, and reminds us of all we love 
to remember. Here he is again ; but he cannot tell 
us where he has been, what regions he has traversed, 
nor what invisible hand pointed out his path in the 
sky. If this inquiry interest us, we begin to look 
about us in the closing year : we see, that, when the 
leaf grows red, the birds are disappearing ; some 
assembling in solemn deliberation, to make arrange- 
ments for the purpose; others taking French leave, 
as it is un^tly called, without ceremony or fare- 
well. Some, like the great white owl, delight in the 
prospect of moonlight gleaming on the snowy plains 

13* 



150 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 

of the north, where all is still as death ; others, like 
the snowbunting, rejoice to accompany the storm as 
it rushes down from the frozen lakes and oceans. 
But most birds secure a mild chmate and perpetual 
verdure, by retreating from the wintry tempests with 
a lleetness greater than its own. Some, like the saga- 
cious crow and the light swallow, which was formerly 
thought to drown itself by way of escaping the win- 
ter, fly only by day ; while others, like travellers in 
the desert, rest by day, and go on their way by night. 
It is curious to observe the order in which some 
arrange themselves. The wild geese, for example, 
whose word of command we so often hear above us 
in the stillness of night, form two files, which meet in 
a sharp angle at the head, where the leader cleaves 
the air and guides the course of the procession ; 
giving up his place, when he is weary, to the next in 
order. All similar caravans move on with a regu- 
larity and precision that do them infinite honor. If 
they can secure a favorable wind, they consider it an 
advantage ; but, if not, they beat and tack, so as to 
overcome its resistance as well as they can. They 
make every thing subordinate to the great business 
of migration. The swallow snatches the insect, and 
the kingfisher his fislr, without suspending their flight ; 
and, if they are late in their journey, they allow 
themselves no rest till they reach their destination. 
Hard times these for birds of large size and little 
wings ! On they must go ; and partly by trudging, 
and partly by swimming, they relieve the hardship of 
flying, and contrive to reach a place of safety and 
rest. It seems at first like a prodigious undertaking 



BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 151 

for a bird to pass from Hudson's Bay to Mexico or 
South America ; but, as some of them can fly at the 
rate of sixty miles an hour, and more with a favor- 
able wind, the journey is soon over, and the shelter 
they gain well worth the toil of reaching it. We 
wonder not that they should go : we are rather 
tempted to say to some poor goldfinch, which we 
occasionally see pale and starving in the dead of 
winter, as Dr. Johnson did to the crow in Scotland, 
" What ! have wings, and stay here ! " We know 
not that birds have much imagination themselves, 
but they certainly inspire it in others : witness the 
wish which Logan sang, and a thousand hearts have 
echoed, — to travel and return Avith the bird in the 
heavens, Avhich knoweth its appointed time, a perpet- 
ual companion of the spring. 

It is well worth while, also, to observe the provi- 
sion which birds make for their own wants, and to 
see how, when reason sometimes falters, instinct 
always operates with the same certainty and suc- 
cess. We have already mentioned the woodpecker, 
who grasps the trunk of a tree with his claws, and 
stands upon his tail, drawing out insects from their 
burrows in the wood. It is said, that he goes to 
an ant's nest, and lies down pretending to be dead, 
with his tongue out, drawing it in, however, as often 
as it is covered with the ants, which are a favorite 
article of his food. The nut-hatch opens nuts or 
the stones of fruits by repeated blows of his sharp, 
horny bill. The butcher-bird, which lives on insects 
and smaller birds, is said to attract the latter by 
imitating their call, and has also a habit of impaling 



152 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 

upon thorns such insects as he does not need at the 
moment. Some have thought this a trap set for 
other birds ; but this is improbable, because un- 
necessary. It seems more likely that this trick of 
gathering what he does not want, and keeping it till 
it is of no use to him, is one which he has learned in 
his intercourse with man. The whippoorwill sits 
upon the fence or the step of a door, singing mourn- 
fully, as if he had lost all his friends ; but woe to the 
moth who believes in the mourner's having lost his 
appetite also ! the bird seizes and swallows him, with- 
out any suspension of his song. The raven and the 
gull, who are fond of shell-fish, but are not provided 
with instruments to open them, carry them high into 
the air, and let them fall on rocks in order to break 
the shell. In this way it is said that a philosopher's 
head was broken in ancient times, being accidentally 
taken for a stone. Whether this be true or not, we 
cannot say : the heads of sages are harder now. 
The bald eagle, proud and disdainful as he seems, 
gets a great part of his living in a manner that does 
more credit to his ingenuity and strength than to his 
morals. He sits in gigantic repose, calmly watching 
the play of the fishing-birds over the blue reach of 
waters, with his wings loosely raised, as if keeping 
time Avith the heaving sea. Soon he sees the fish- 
hawk dive heavily in the ocean, and re-appear with 
a scream of triumph, bearing the sluggish fish. Then 
the gaze of the eagle grows fiery and intense ; his 
wings are spread wide, and he gives chase to the 
hawk, till he compels him to let fall his prize ; but it 
is not lost, for the eagle wheels in a broad circle. 



BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 153 

sweeps down upon the edge of the wave, and se- 
cures it before it touches the water. Nothing can be 
more majestic than the flight of this noble bird: 
he seems to move by an effort of will alone, without 
the waving of his wings. Pity it is that he should 
dishonor himself by such unworthy robbery as this I 
though it by no means destroys the resemblance 
between the king of birds and the kings of men. 

The art which birds display in their nests deserves 
admiration. We are in the habit of speaking of the 
nest as the home of the bird ; but it is nothing more 
than the cradle of the young. Birds of mature years 
are exposed to all the elements, but are provided 
with oil to spread upon their plumage, which enables 
it to shed the rain. This supply ceases in a measure, 
when birds are sheltered by the care of man : while 
the small bird is dry and active through all the heavi- 
est showers, the wet human being does not look more 
sorrowful than the drowned and draggling hen. The 
nest of the humming-bird, that little creature so beau- 
tiful, and, like most other beauties, so deficient in 
temper, is the choicest piece of work that can be 
imagined ; being formed and covered with moss, in 
such a manner as to resemble exactly a knot of the 
limb on which it is built. But this is exceeded by 
the little tailor-bird of India, Avhich, living in a climate 
where the young are exposed to all manner of foes, 
constructs its nest by sewing together two large 
leaves of a tree, at the very extremity of the limb, 
where neither ape, serpent, nor monkey, would ven- 
ture for all beneath the moon. It uses its bill for an 
awl, and fibres for threads, and thus unites them in 



154 



BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS, 



a workmanlike manner, placing its nest between, 
lined with gossamer, feathers, and down. We can 
see something resembling this in the nest of the balti- 
more-oriole, which is so common in our gardens in 
summer. It is formed by tying together some forked 
twigs at the extremity of a limb, with strings either 
stripped from vegetables, or, if more convenient, 
stolen from a graft or a window. These twigs form 
a frame-work, round which they weave a coarse 
covering to enclose the nest, composed of thread, 
Avool, or tow. The inner nest is at the bottom of 
this external pocket, where it swings securely in the 
highest wind, and is sheltered by the arbor of leaves 
above it, both from the rain and sun. This intelli- 
gent bird was not slow to discover, that much trouble 
might be saved by employing strings Avhich have 
been already prepared by the hands of man ; and, if 
skeins of thread or any tiling of the kind come in his 
way, he makes use of them without asking to whom 
they belong. This is the most remarkable structure 
of the kind in our country ; but, if we may believe 
the accounts of others, a bird in India makes a simi- 
lar nest, with several apartments, which it lights up 
with fire-flies by night. 

There are birds which construct their nests with 
less delicacy, but more hard labor ; the woodpecker, 
for example, which chisels out its gallery in the 
trunks or limbs of trees, and thus prepares a lodging, 
not only for itself, but for the nut-hatch, black capt 
titmouse, and other birds, which take advantage of 
the woodpecker's deserted mansions. The king- 
fisher chooses a bank near the scene of his labors ; 



BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 155 

and here, Avith his mate, works with his bill and 
claws — rather inefi'ective tools for the purpose — till 
he has scooped out a tunnel of the depth of several 
feet horizontally. The extreme part is spacious and 
ovenlike ; but the entrance is only large enough for 
one. This bird does not waste its labor, like many 
others, but makes the same cavern answer its pur- 
pose for a number of years. The little sandmartin 
follows the kingfisher's example. The purple mar- 
tin, and the republican swallow, Avhich is now emi- 
grating to us from the West, defend their habitations 
with a mud wall. The golden-crowned thrush 
makes its nest in the ground, diffusing it so as to 
resemble the turf around it. But some birds show 
great indifference to this subject, from whom it 
would least be expected ; as the hen, which merely 
scratches a place for its nest, though it is afterwards 
so attentive to its young. The sea-birds, in general 
rough and hardy in their habits, leave iheir eggs 
lying loosely on the sand. The duck, however, the 
eider particularly, which is one of our northern visit- 
ors, is so motherly in its habits as to strip the down 
from its own breast to line the nest for its young. In 
the northern regions, where they breed, the natives 
plunder the nest ; the bird again lines its habitation, 
and again it is plundered. Many an individual in 
civilized countries feathers his nest at the expense of 
the poor eider, who is thus a martyr to her maternal 
affection. 

Most birds make their nests in an honest and 
industrious way ; but there is a knavish crew, which, 
for reasons which we cannot fathom, are permitted 



156 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 

to save themselves the trouble, both of providing 
lodging and education for their young, by imposing 
the burden upon others. In foreign countries, the 
cuckoo is guilty of this unnatural proceeding, which 
combines the sins of desertion and imposture. The 
reproach is, of course, transferred to our American 
bird of that name ; but our yellow-billed cuckoo is 
very motherly in its habits and feelings. It is true 
that its eggs have been found in the nests of other 
birds ; but a distinguished naturalist conjectures, that 
its intention was to steal the nest, and not to leave its 
young to the care of others. The worst thing known 
of our cuckoo is, that it feeds upon the eggs of other 
birds. The unnatural parent in this country is the 
well-known low blackbird, the pest of almost all 
the feathered race. She lays her egg in the nests of 
various other birds, without much concern in the 
selection, and seems fully conscious that she is acting 
a disgraceful part. If the owner of the nest have 
any eggs of her own, she takes care of the strange 
one, rather than desert them ; if not, she generally 
gives up the work she has finished with the sweat of 
her brow. Sometimes the birds throw out the egg 
that has no business there ; sometimes they lay a new 
floor to the nest ; but, in many cases, affection for 
their own induces them to submit with a good grace 
to the imposition. When the young foundling is 
hatched, the quarters are so small for him, that he 
often stifles the other young birds, merely from want 
of room. He retreats the moment he is able to fly, as 
if conscious that he has no right to his home. This 
reproach should be given to the real sinner, and not 



BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 157 

to the cuckoo ; for the latter bird does actually patch 
up something, which, considering that it is honestly- 
made, may be dignified with the name of nest. 

Birds, like men, are apt to regard each other as 
lawful prey ; which renders various provisions of 
nature necessary to secure the weak against the 
strong. The structure of the eye gives an advantage 
to the cannibal, as well as to his victim. It is suited 
in a wonderful manner to the Avants of the animal, 
and to the element in which it lives. It has an 
apparatus by which the bird can push it out and 
draw it in, thus extending or lessening the sphere of 
vision at pleasure ; the nictitating membrane covers 
it with a partially opaque curtain, when it would 
reduce the light without closing the lid ; the nerve is 
quick in its sensibility to every impression ; and birds 
are thus enabled either to pick up insects close before 
them, or to look abroad over miles of earth and sea. 
The fish-hawk sees the fish at an immense distance 
beneath it ; and others of the same race discern their 
prey on the ground or flying, when an object so 
small would be wholly invisible to the human eye. 
Under these circumstances, the smaller birds some- 
times borrow resolution from despair. The graceful 
little kingbird, whose military habits are signified by 
the red plume which he sometimes displays, will at- 
tack the largest tyrant of the air ; and not only crows, 
but hawks and eagles, retreat from him with an expe- 
dition which signifies that they have gained neither 
profit nor honor in ihe encounter. When the smaller 
birds think it unwise to do battle, they retire under 
hedges and brushwood ; and the hawk looks after 

14 



158 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 

them, as British frigates did after the little Greek 
pirate-boats, sorely puzzled to tell whether they had 
passed into the earth or air, while they were quietly 
sunk along the shore, ready to float again as soon as 
the danger was past. When this cannot be conve- 
niently done, they sometimes rush out to meet the 
bird of prey in great numbers ; and, by flying about 
him in all directions, attempting to get above him, 
and setting up a general outcry, they bewilder his 
brain — never very bright — in such a manner that 
he is compelled to retreat, in order to collect his scat- 
tered wits. When they have no other resort, they 
sometimes put themselves under the protection of 
man ; but they consider this a choice of evils, and to 
be done only in desperate cases. Nature has provi- 
ded for the security of some which have not ingenuity 
to defend themselves. Some are made to resemble 
the tree so closely as to escape unpleasant obser- 
vation ; some find the same security in their likeness 
to earth and stones. Many of our readers have doubt- 
less met the quail, Avith her thriving family of children, 
in their rambles through the woods. If they are so 
well aware of the artifices of the mother as not to 
regard her pretence of lameness, they may attempt 
to secure the young ; but fortunate and sharp-sighted 
must they be to discover them, such is their resem- 
blance to the dried leaves in which they nestle. The 
young of the whippoorwill, also, seem aware of this 
advantage, and retain great composure in danger, 
trusting that they shall not be distinguished from the 
ground. It is this fear, so necessary to their defence, 
which makes birds so reserved in their intercourse 



BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 159 

Avith men, that their characters are but little under- 
stood. The crow, for example, never acts himself 
till he is tamed and made familiar with man. In his 
wild state, he is eminently suspicious : let him see 
but a string near the corn-field, and he imagines it 
a snare ; let any one attempt to approach him with a 
gun, and he keeps at a respectful distance, while he 
manifests no fear of an unarmed man. When do- 
mesticated, the grave and jealous wiseacre lays aside 
his solemnity, and becomes mischievous as a mon- 
key, showing in his tricks astonishing sagacity, in 
selecting both subject and occasion. Most birds can 
be tamed ; but man has not a good reputation among 
them in general ; and it is not easy to quiet their fears, 
lest he shall abuse his power. 

The voice is the power for which birds are most 
remarkable ; and this depends very much upon the 
quickness of their hearing, in which they excel most 
other animals. The lungs bear a very large pro- 
portion to the frame, which is so constructed as to 
receive great admissions of air, which aids the en- 
ergy of sound. The distance at which the soaring 
birds can be heard is almost incredible. The cry of 
the eagle will reach us from his most towering height, 
and the wild scream of the sea-bird rises above the 
thunder of the beach. The variety of their tones is 
not less surprising. The common barn-door fowl 
is an example : its tones are ludicrously human, run- 
ning through all changes expressive of passion, but 
most eloquent in discontent, anxiety, sorrow, and 
despair. But the smaller birds are those which fill 
the garden and the wood with their spirit-like song. 



160 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 

Their strains are poured forth to swell that stream of 
blended melodies which form the voice of spring ; a 
voice full of pleasing and tender associations, which 
comes upon the ear, reminding us of all most dear 
to remembrance, and often fills the soul with hap- 
piness, and the eyes with tears. No country can 
exceed our own in this music of nature. The 
European nightingale has been long regarded as 
unrivalled ; but now it is conceded, that its strain 
owes something of its charm to the hour when 
it is heard, Avhen the sounds of the day are over, 
and all around is listening, breathless and still. But 
our mocking-bird, so unworthily named, — since he 
introduces snatches of songs of other birds into 
his voluntary, not from poverty of invention, but in 
wantonness, and to show how his own surpasses 
them all, — is rather an enthusiast than an imitator ; 
as any one may know who has seen him at his 
matins, with every nerve in motion, trembling with 
dehght, and resembling St. Ignatius, who, as MafFei 
tells us, was often lifted several feet from the ground 
by the intenseness and spirituality of his devotions. 
These fine powers of song, however, are not con- 
fined to one or two birds : where the mocking-bird 
is never heard, there are strains, not so various and 
striking perhaps, but equally plaintive, original, and 
sweet. 

Every one hears the voice of the bird with interest 
and pleasure ; and any explanation of the habits 
and history of the wild and retiring musician will be 
generally welcome. For reasons which will easily 
suggest themselves to the reader, no general atten- 



BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 



161 



tion has been hitherto given to the subject. Tlie 
heavy works in which information can be found have 
been treasured in expensive Kbraries only, where 
they are out of the reach of the great proportion of 
those who are most interested in these things. But 
a few such men as Audubon will soon place the 
results of their adventurous travels where men shall 
see and know them ; a taste for their favorite sci- 
ences will gradually be created, and they will be sure 
of the general applause. But we hope that the mel- 
ancholy hne, " Sic vos non vobis nidificatis aves ! " 
will not apply to them as truly as it does to many of 
their favorite race. Those who have labored and 
suffered in the cause of science are entitled to some- 
thing more substantial than golden opinions ; for, if 
fame be a reward, it is one for which they are in- 
debted to themselves, and not to others. 

The most celebrated adventurer in this charming 
pursuit was Alexander Wilson ; a name not suffici- 
ently known when fame would have been of use to 
him, but now surrounded with many interesting as- 
sociations. He was, till the eighteenth year of his 
age, apprentice to a weaver ; but he never seemed 
to regard his trade as an employment at all seden- 
tary ; and he was in the constant habit of making 
pilgrimages through his native land, Scotland, in the 
capacity of a pedler, displaying at the same time an 
indifference to profit, and a passion for poetry, not 
often found in that estimable race. This latter pro- 
pensity was encouraged by the success of Burns, 
with whom he was personally acquainted. But Wil- 
son, when he attempted to publish his inspirations, 

14* 



162 



BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 



met with no good fortune, except once, when com- 
pelled to burn with his own hands, at the town-cross, 
a satire which he had written upon some individual 
by whom he thought the weavers had been oppress- 
ed ; upon which occasion he was cheered by the 
multitude as a patriot and a martyr. We can hardly 
account for his entire failure in his poetical attempts. 
One would have supposed, that, with a glowing im- 
agination, a quick and delicate sensibility, a melan- 
choly and sometimes majestic tone of thought, and a 
perseverance untiring as an eagle's wing, he must 
have become distinguished in an art where many 
have secured eminence without half his powers. But 
so it was, that he might as well have attempted to 
weave the visions of his fancy in the tapestry of a 
Paisley loom, as express them in such numbers as 
those which he gave triumphantly to the world, and 
which the world, fortunately for science, rejected. 

Wilson came to this country in 1794, so forlorn in 
circumstances that he slept upon deck through the 
whole voyage, and, when he arrived, had no property 
but a fowling-piece. He landed at Newcastle, and, 
as he was walking to Philadelphia, shot a red-headed 
woodpecker. It is said that he often mentioned after- 
wards what delight the sight of this beautiful bird 
gave him ; and, as this was a time when he was 
naturally full of excitement, the incident probably 
had much effect in determining his mind to that pur- 
suit, which resulted in his becoming the historian of 
the feathered race. After a few years of depression, 
variegated by an occasional change from the employ- 
ment of a schoolmaster to that of pedler, he found a 



BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 163 

resting-place on the banks of the Schuylkill ; the 
same region Avhich afterwards inspired Audubon 
with taste and enthusiasm similar to his own. Here 
he Avas fortunate enough to find friends, who, though 
they dared not encourage him in a pursuit where the 
sacrifices were likely to be great, and the substantial 
rcAvards very few, seem, nevertheless, to have sym- 
pathized with him, and to have believed as he did, 
that the volume of nature deserved to be read, as 
well as the day-book and ledger. This was precisely 
the encouragement Avhich his energetic spirit wanted ; 
his plans were already rough-hewn in his own ima- 
gination ; and, once assured that his object was 
properly estimated by others whose judgment he 
valued, he knew how to make minor difficulties give 
way before him. He applied . himself earnestly to 
the study of natural history in the intervals of his 
labor as a teacher, and made various attempts at 
delineating birds, but so unsuccessfully that for a 
long time the sight of them filled him with indignation 
and despair. Still he persevered, wisely resolving to 
make that preparation for his rambles, Avithout which 
his labor Avould be thrown away. He Avent on foot to 
Niagara in 1805 ; and on his return Ave find him Avith 
a spirit undaunted, but a fortune considerably less 
than a dollar, expressing a manly confidence that 
he had the resources Avhich his enterprise required ; 
a constitution which hardship only strengthened ; a 
heart unchained by domestic affections ; a disposition 
equally satisfied Avith a comfortable bed, or an Indian 
fire in the heart of the AVoods ; and, above all, a reso- 
lution Avhich no failure could depress, and no obstacle 



164 



BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 



withstand. He made engagements Avith a bookseller 
in Philadelphia, who was to advance the funds re- 
quired for an edition of two hundred copies, while 
Wilson was to furnish the drawings and descriptions, 
receiving meantime a small sum for coloring the 
plates, which formed his only support. He thought 
it necessary to make a commencement of his work, 
in order that he might use it to gain subscribers, 
while wandering through the country to collect ma- 
terials for his future numbers. 

In 1808, he Avent forth, directing his steps east- 
ward, and arranged his outposts and spies in such a 
manner, that he expressed his confidence that not 
a wren could travel from York to Canada Avithout 
his receiving immediate information. But subscribers 
did not abound, and the whole number he Avas able 
to collect amounted only to forty-one ; AA^hile the 
drudgery of making his proposals again and again, 
only to hear them rejected, was extremely grating to a 
spirit like his, melancholy and someAvhat proud. So 
little was his object appreciated, that in Haverhill, 
New Hampshire, he was apprehended as a spy ; the 
inhabitants supposing that some foreign poAver had 
fallen in love Avith their paradise, and Avas preparing 
plans for an invasion. When he returned from the 
East, after resting but a day or tAVO, he made a tour 
through the Southern States, and succeeded in adding 
one hundred and tAventy-five to his subscription-list, 
beside gaining subjects for his pencil from the cypress 
swamps and pine savannas. All his remarks upon 
men and manners are those of a sharp, thoughtful, and 
rather sad observer ; but, in a third tour, Avhere his 



BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 165 

route led him through the vast Western regions of our 
country, — which he visited before the steam-boat 
had supplanted the ark and the bush-whacker upon 
the rivers, thus removing solitude and extending civ- 
ilization, by crowding the work of a hundred years 
into ten, — he seems to travel with a lighter step 
and heart, as if he had learned distrust from those 
subjects of his art that spread their wings and fly 
from the presence of man. But he did not escape 
mortifications even there. A certain judge told him, 
that his book, being out of the reach of the com- 
monalty, was anti-republican, and ought not to be 
encouraged, Wilson asked him what he thought 
of his own handsome three-story house ; whether such 
buildings were within the reach of the commonalty, 
as he called them ; — a question, to which it is not 
stated, that the bench made any satisfactory reply. 
He evidently felt such coarse remarks much more 
than the serious difliculties and hardships of his Avay. 
In fact, he held those labors very light ; and there is, 
to our apprehension, something grand and striking 
in the thought of a man going forth alone, in the 
strength of his own heart, Avith none to share his 
trials, or even understand his feelings ; seeing what 
others could not see, hearing what others could not 
hear ; bearing gallantly onward, like a light vessel 
over the unsounded seas ; while all who crowd the 
shore, as it departs, prophesy that it was " built in 
the eclipse," and they never shall see it again. 

Lest we be taken for enthusiasts, Avhich would be 
fatal to our reputation as reviewers, Ave Avould say, 
that it is not every great naturalist who makes a sub- 



166 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 

lime and affecting impression : witness Mr. A-udu- 
bon's picturesque account of his visit from M. de 

T , a blank which some readers Avill probably be 

able to fill. One day, Avhen walking by the river, 
he saw an individual land from a boat with a bunch 
of hay upon his back, who seemed to occasion some 
speculation among the boatmen. The stranger in- 
quired for Mr. Audubon, and, learning that he was 
the person, gave him a letter of introduction from a 
friend, which began, " I send you an odd fish, which 
I hope you will describe." Mr. Audubon read the 
letter aloud, and asked him where it was. The stran- 
ger, rubbing his hands with much glee, replied, " I 
am the odd fish, I presume, sir." After such an 
apology as was forthcoming, Mr. Audubon offered to 
send for his baggage, but was saved the trouble by 

M. de T 's informing him, that he had none, save 

the cargo of weeds upon his back. When introduced 
to the ladies, he thought it necessary to improve 
his appearance, and accordingly, pulling off his 
shoes, began to draw down his stockings to hide the 
holes about the heels, remarking that his dress had 
suffered a little in his journey. It consisted of a 
long, loose coat of yellow nankeen, which had been 
stained into a resemblance to that of Joseph's, by the 
juice of various plants and flowers; a waistcoat of 
the same, with unfathomable pockets, and buttoned 
up to the chin, covering a large portion of his tight 
pantaloons, — the whole raiment surmounted by long 
hair and a beard, which were left to the care of na- 
ture. The spectre conversed in a very intelligent 
and agreeable manner, but was impatient to see Mr. 



BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 167 

Audubon's drawings of birds and floAvers. On look- 
ing at one of the latter, he shook his head, and de- 
clared that there was no such plant. Mr. Audubon 
at once silenced his doubts by taking him to the spot 
where it grew ; upon seeing Avhich, he danced and 
shouted in ecstasy, declaring that he had found, not 
only a new species, but a new genus, and appearing 
as if he could have died happy. At midnight, a great 
uproar was heard in the naturalist's apartment ; and 
Mr. Audubon, running thither in alarm, found him 
racing round the room with the handle of a violin in 
his hand, having already demolished the body of 
it in attempts to beat down some bats, nothing 
regarding his own want of drapery, nor the de- 
struction he was making. Having secured one of 
the intruders for his collection, he retired to bed 
with singular satisfaction. After remaining an in- 
mate in the family for three weeks, he suddenly dis- 
appeared ; and they could only account for his 
absence by supposing that he had himself been taken 
and secured as a specimen, till a letter of thanks 
from him came to hand some time after. Mr. Audu- 
bon seems to have taken vengeance on the naturalist 
for the destruction of his fiddle, and the various 
other inconveniences he had occasioned, by showing 
him the interior of a cane-brake, Avhere they encount- 
ered a bear who was upon the same expedition, and 
were overtaken by a thunder-storm, which made the 
man of science for once forget his enthusiasm in his 
fears. We can forgive this, inasmuch as the jest 
was in the way of their profession ; but we feel 
bound to declare our entire disapprobation of iiis 



168 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 

proceeding, in exposing a fellow-traveller to the 
wrath of a pole-cat. This gentleman, struck with 
the beauty of the animal, dismounted in order to 
secure it ; but was soon convinced, that, because the 
creature Avas pleasing to one sense, it did not follow 
that he should be equally acceptable to another. We 
should as soon have thought of exposing a human 
being to the attacks of a party newspaper on the eve 
of a presidential election. How far this unsavory 
jest was carried, we are not precisely informed ; but, 
though reviewers by profession, we can see no sport 
in the suffering of our fellow-creatures ; and we 
undertake to assure Mr. Audubon, that the least play 
of such humor is extremely offensive. 

But to return to Wilson. When Mr. Audubon 
resided in Louisville, Wilson came into his counting- 
room one morning, with the two numbers of his 
work then published, and offered his proposals. Mr. 
Audubon describes his appearance as rendered strik- 
ing by the keenness of his eyes, and the prominence 
of his cheekbones ; and his peculiarities of look were 
probably heightened by an expression of surprise at 
finding another person engaged at the moment in a 
pursuit similar to his own. As Mr. Audubon Avas 
about to write his name as a subscriber, his partner 
advised him rather abruptly to forbear, assuring him 
in French that his own drawings were superior to 
those of Wilson, and that his acquaintance with the 
habits of birds could not be less. This advice pre- 
vailed, and he declined subscribing. Mr, Audubon 
observes, that Wilson did not appear pleased, either 
because he understood the language in which the 



BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. ] 69 

remark was made, or because he Avas disappointed 
in the hope of adding to his hst. He probably did 
not miderstand French ; but the language of manner 
is the same all the Avorld over. It requires but little 
study to discover the meaning of expressions of hght 
esteem ; and, beside this, a man who has given his 
life and heart to the accomplishment of an object, 
beheving that he has no rival, must be somewhat 
more than human, if he be delighted to find that 
another is engaged in the same purpose, with equal 
energy, and advantages far greater than his own. 
They, however, compared notes in a friendly man- 
ner, and ranged the woods together. Mr. Audubon 
introduced him to his family, and did all in his power 
to make his visit pleasant ; but he seemed oppressed 
by constant melancholy, which was only relieved by 
the Scotch airs which he played sweetly on his flute, 
social enjoyments having for him no charm nor 
attraction. Mr. Audubon offered him his oAvn draw- 
ings for the " American Ornithology," only stipulat- 
ing that they should bear his own name ; but Wilson 
did not accept the proposal. Mr. Audubon after- 
wards waited upon him in Philadelphia, and was 
kindly received ; but nothing was said of the subject 
which was nearest to their hearts. When the ninth 
number of the "Ornithology" Avas pubhshed, Mr. 
Audubon was surprised, and not particularly de- 
lighted, to find a note from Wilson's journal, dated 
March 23, 1810, in which he remarks that in Louis- 
ville he received no attention, and gained neither 
new subscriber nor new bird. " Science and litera- 
ture," said he, " have not one friend in the place." 
15 



170 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 

Mr. Audubon relates these circumstances with a 
tone which does him honor ; without making com- 
plaints of Wilson, who certainly appears at dis- 
advantage, and without losing his respect for the 
talent and enterprise of a very remarkable man. 
He had a right to justify himself, and this is all he 
attempts in his explanation. The note was probably 
written in a moment of disappointment and depres- 
sion, and was an exact description of the writer's 
feelings. We can do more justice to both, if we 
remember that neither party was then known to the 
world. If we think of Wilson at the time as one 
whose acquaintance was thought an honor, or whose 
genius was respected as it now is, we shall widely 
mistake his condition. He was a man of plain 
appearance, of manners not prepossessing to stran- 
gers, engaged in a pursuit which not one in ten 
thousand knew how to appreciate, and which indeed 
owes its fame in our country principally to his exer- 
tions. His features were rather coarse, and his dress 
better suited to the forest than the draAving-room : 
moreover he carried with him a subscription-list, and 
was thus connected with a class of visitors which no 
man welcomes to his house with rapture. Under 
these circumstances, though we have no doubt that 
Mr. Audubon treated him with kind attention, and 
felt respect for his enthusiasm, still it required a 
prophet's eye to discover his full claims, and to as- 
sign him that high place which, as a man of genius, 
he felt he had a right to demand. All who knew 
Wilson unanimously testify, that, although irritable, 
and unable to endure the least disrespect, his dispo- 



BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 171 

sition was remarkably kind, liberal, and just. In all 
his dealings with others, he Avas the very soul of 
honor ; so that he was doubtless misled by feelings 
of despondency, which often attach unpleasant asso- 
ciations, in an unjust and unaccountable manner, to 
places and persons which by no means deserve them. 
We observe that the " American Quarterly RevieAv," 
in noticing the work before us, justifies Philadelphia 
from an implied censure cast upon it by Mr. Audu- 
bon. He says that Liverpool freely accorded to him 
honors, which, on application made by his friends, 
Philadelphia had refused him. We do not profess 
to understand the allusion. That city is the last to 
deserve a charge of want of hospitality, and Mr. Au- 
dubon is evidently not the man to make unreasonable 
complaints or demands. We think it probable, that 
he wrote thus from having accidentally connected 
depressing associations with a place where he had 
hoped to publish his work, and where he found him- 
self disappointed ; and that it never occurred either 
to him or to Wilson, that, in expressing their feel- 
ings, they were bringing grave charges against any 
place or people. 

It does not seem probable to us, that, if Wilson 
and Audubon had been acquainted with each other 
more intimately and under more favorable circum- 
stances, they would have been very well suited to 
each other. Those who agree in being devoted to a 
similar object are generally said to have similarity 
of taste ; but this does not follow ; and, where they 
are unlilve in feeling, their pursuit of the same object 
is more likely to make them rivals than friends. 



173 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 

Wilson was a man whose poAvers were concentrated 
upon a single purpose : he pursued it, not as an 
amusement, nor even an employment, but as the 
great object of his life, and with a deep and deter- 
mined spirit, which few could understand. The 
subjects of his art and inquiry were not playthings 
to him, they were intimate and familiar friends ; 
their voice Avas not music, but language ; instead of 
dying aAvay upon the ear, it went down into his soul. 
To him the notes with which they heralded the 
spring were full of glory ; and, when in the autumn 
they heard far off the trumpet of the storm, and sang 
their farewell to the Avoods, it Avas solemn and affect- 
ing, as if it Avere breathed from a living and beating 
heart. To others this interest seemed senseless and 
excessive ; but he AA^as one of those Avho never smile 
at the depth and earnestness of their oaaui emotions. 
When he described the birds, he spoke of their habits 
and manners as if they Avere intelhgent things ; and 
thus has given a life and charm to his descriptions, 
Avhich Avill make his Avork the chief attraction of the 
science, in our country, for many years to come. 
But, as might be supposed, this very enthusiasm, 
Avhich Avas so strong that he kept it as much as pos- 
sible to himself, thinking it Avould find no sympathy 
with those Avho never had felt it, has led him into 
many errors. He trusted too much to his imagina- 
tion : from Avhat he saAV he inferred much that he 
did not see, and therefore his successors have been 
constantly employed in correcting the mistakes of 
their master. Audubon entered upon the pursuit 
Avith an enthusiasm equally resolute, but much more 



BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 173 

light-hearted. It began in childhood ; and, as it 
grew with his growth and strengthened with his 
strength, it was more judicious and discriminating 
than if he had, late in life, turned the whole current 
of his feeling in this new direction. Beside this 
material difference, he was more fortunate than Wil- 
son, in having a family who sympathized with him, 
when other friends discouraged him, and complained 
of the Avaste of his time and exertions. Being inore 
a man of the Avorld than Wilson, though without 
losing the simplicity of his mind, we feel that he is 
less likely to be led away by his fancy, and there- 
fore trust him as a safer guide, though not a more 
fascinating companion. But, if he is less poetical 
than Wilson, he has much of the spirit of his prede- 
cessor. The very name which he has given to his 
work — "Biography" — shows that he feels as if 
he were describing intelligent and spiritual things, 
and thus inspires a sort of Pythagorean interest, such 
as natural history is seldom fortunate enough to 
awaken. When he introduces a bird to our ac- 
quaintance, he is evidently solicitous to place its 
vhtues and attractions in the most flattering light, as 
if he were speaking in favor of a friend. We need 
liardly say that his work is very engaging. The sin- 
gleness of heart which is always found connected with 
an enthusiastic love of nature speaks volumes in favor 
of such men ; and, if it were not so, their various and 
amusing adventures, the wild aspects of the country 
which they describe, their escapes and dangers, their 
hardships and pleasures, all alike unknown to ordi- 
nary life, give to their writings a romantic charm. 
15* 



174 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 

Mr. Audubon was born in America, but was de- 
scended from a French family, and was sent early 
in life, to receive his education in France. This 
would be sufficiently evident from the peculiar style 
of his writings, which are fluent and eloquent, but 
carry evidence with them that they never proceeded 
from an English pen. It would seem, that the direc- 
tion in which he has been so successful Avas given to 
his taste in early childhood. It must have been 
partly inherited ; for the passion rose at a period 
earlier than he can remember, and he tells us that 
his father encouraged it, pointing out to him the 
graceful movement and beautiful forms of birds. 
There Avas no need, however, of fanning the flame ; 
for, from the first, he was never happy when removed 
from the forests and fields, and his chief enjoyment 
was to find out the homes of the small birds in the 
green masses of foliage, or to follow the curlew and 
cormorant to the retreats where they sought shelter 
from the fury of the storm. To look upon their eggs in 
the downy nest or on the burning sands, and to trace 
their history from the shell through all their migrations 
and changes, was then, as it is now, the favorite desire 
of his heart. It might seem a dangerous thing in a 
parent to encourage a taste which was already so 
strong, and which, if it became engrossing, threatened 
to interfere so much with the more practical pursuits 
of life. He probably was willing that his son should 
make this the business of his life, and appears to have 
taken judicious care to impress upon his child, that all 
the admiration and love which nature inspires should 
remind us of Him who made it. 



BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 175 

He was desirous of keeping these subjects of study 
always before him ; but he found no satisfaction in 
looking upon the stuffed birds of collections, which, 
like the Egyptian mummies, retain but a small por- 
tion of their living attractions. These would not 
answer ; and the beauties of their plumage seemed 
to him as perishable as sunset clouds, till his father, 
at the proper time, set before him a book of illustra- 
tions. This awakened a new ambition ; and he 
determined to rival, and if possible excel, what 
he saw. But he was obliged to go through the usual 
discipline ; his first efforts seemed like caricatures ; 
and every new advance he made rendered him dis- 
contented with what he had done before. It is a 
grievous thing to man to be compelled to laugh at 
his own productions, because he feels that another 
year's improvement may render his present efforts as 
ludicrous to himself as the former. But this is one 
of the evidences of real taste and talent. It shows 
that the standard of excellence in the artist's mind is 
set high ; and this is an advantage both in youth and 
manhood ; for the moment one begins to be satisfied 
with his own productions, he shows that he has lost 
his enthusiastic desire to improve, — a desirfe which 
forms the inspiration of genius, and without which no 
one ever was great. 

While receiving his education in France, from 
Avhich country he returned at the age of seventeen, 
Mr. Audubon took lessons in drawing from David ; 
which, though the subjects were not such as he would 
have chosen for himself, doubtless gave him an ease 
and freedom with the hand and eye, which he found 



176 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 

of great advantage. He immediately commenced 
the great undertaking which is now well known to the 
world. His father gave him an estate on the Schuyl- 
kill, a residence well suited to his purpose ; and here, 
he says, it was his constant practice to commence his 
rambles at daybreak, it being his happiness and tri- 
umph to return wet with dew, with the bird which 
was to ornament his page. Those who are ac- 
quainted with birds know how much they are in the 
habit of following the course of rivers, in their period- 
ical journeys, and that a diligent observer near one of 
our larger streams will be likely to see nearly all the 
inland birds. But it was not enough for him to know 
their forms : he wished to learn their history in every 
particular; and, to gain this information, he under- 
took long and hazardous expeditions, being some- 
times absent from his family for years, engaged in 
exploring prairies, mountains, lakes, and seas. We 
said, that he was from the beginning engaged in this 
undertaking; but we must not give the impression, 
that he had in view the publication before us : on the 
contrary, he assures us, that he was led onward solely 
by the love of the pursuit, from which he derived 
constant gratification. His friends were as earnest 
as those of Job to convince him that he was much 
to blame, and he confesses that any one who saw 
his habits might have supposed him negligent of every 
domestic duty ; but his wife and children, who Avere 
certainly most interested in his movements, did not 
join in the censure. They Avill now be rewarded for 
their forbearance, by enjoying the reflection of his 
fame. 



BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 177 

How much he was in earnest in his rambles ap- 
pears from his account of a visit to Niagara, in which 
he has given a picture of himself, as life-like as any 
of his colored illustrations. He had been wandering 
near the lakes for months, and was returning with 
his drawings of plants and birds. The last vestige 
of his linen had long ago been devoted to the pur- 
pose of cleaning his gun ; he was dressed like one of 
the poorest Indians ; his beard covered his neck, and 
his hair flowed down his back ; his leathern raiment 
was crying loudly for repair ; a large knife hung at 
his side ; and a worn-out blanket, containing his tin 
box of drawings, Avas buckled to his shoulders. In 
this guise, he walked into the public house, and de- 
manded breakfast ; all present being amazed to hear 
from such a figure any thing that denoted a resem- 
blance to civilized man. The landlord seemed 
anxious to secure him as a lion ; and he had, in fact, 
come for the sake of sketching the fall ; but he made 
a discovery which may well be published for the 
benefit of painters, viz. that, in a miniature picture of 
such a scene, no very impressive idea can be given 
of the extent or the sound. It Avould save many 
a painting, in which the falling ocean dwindles to a 
mill-dam. 

The idea of making a collection for pubhcation 
never suggested itself to Mr. Audubon till he visited 
Philadelphia in 1S24, on his way to the eastward 
through the Atlantic States. He was then a stranger 
to all but Dr. Mease, Avho introduced him to the 
well-known Charles Bonaparte, whose name, Ave 
observe, is sometimes decorated Avith a title ; though, 



178 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 

we doubt not, he looks to science for his most honor- 
able distinctions. From Philadelphia he proceeded 
to New York, where he was received with flattering 
attention, and, after ascending the Hudson, traversed 
the great western lakes, making probably the tour 
to which we have just alluded. The thought of 
publishing to the world the results of his labors sup- 
plied him Avith a new inspiration and a more definite 
object : the thought of a solitary individual like him- 
self gaining a name in the old world, by his laborious 
pilgrimages through the desert regions of the new, 
came in aid of his attachment to nature. He thought 
of it by day, and dreamed of it by night ; and, by 
constantly endeavoring to bring his designs to perfec- 
tion, succeeded at last to his own satisfaction, and 
the surprise of others : we say to their surprise, 
because we are not in the habit of seeing one man 
make himself familiar with every subject of a science, 
and inquire into all its particulars, in any other way 
than by studying at home, and depending in part on 
the authority of others. 

Whoever reads Mr. Audubon's account of his 
various tours will see that he had a mind which, in 
the midst of its devotion to a single object, found 
time to meditate upon all that was before him. When 
he embarked on the Ohio, in his own boat, with his 
wife and his infant son, he is very eloquent in his 
description of the beauty of the river. It was in Oc- 
tober, in the season called in this country the Indian 
summer, when the early frosts are over, and winter, 
after having given a gentle warning of his coming, 
suspends his step, as if unwilling to destroy the glory 



BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 179 

of the year. The trees had put on their rich and 
glowing colors, which, with the Avild garlands of the 
vine that covered them, were darkly reflected in 
the Avaters. The haze that covered the landscape 
softened its lines and shadows, melting down the 
brightness of the sun, and changing the pale waning 
moon into a golden semicircle, seen as distinctly in 
the stream as in the sky. The ripple of their boat 
was the only sound which broke the silence, except 
when some large fish sprang upwards in pursuit of a 
shoal that darted out like silvery arrows, and fell in 
a little shower of light. At evening they heard the 
distant tinkling, as the cattle were returning to their 
homes, and saw the shadows mysteriously darken the 
shores. As the night fell, they caught the sound of 
the boatman's horn, as it came. softened almost into 
music by the distance, and at times heard the solemn 
hooting of the great owl, or the muffled noise of its 
wings, as it sailed gently across the stream. We give 
the substance of this description, in order to show 
our readers in what scenes his fancy was kindled 
and his taste formed. He had here the charm of 
solitude, together with the society — which, for the 
time, he was anxious to secure — of that race which 
had excited in him, from his earliest years, an interest 
deeper than man is often fortunate enough to inspire 
in man. 

But Mr. Audubon affords us the contrast to this 
picture of solitude without desolation. Our readers 
have doubtless seen extracted in many of our papers 
an account of his adventure in a cabin, on his return 
from the upper Mississippi. He was crossing a prai- 



180 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 

rie ; and, in taking shelter in this hut for the night, 
he happened to display his watch to the landlady, 
who immediately devised measures to secure it for 
herself, by removing him to a world where measures 
of time are not wanted. She was prevented by the 
seasonable arrival of two travellers, armed as usual 
in such journeys, who aided to secure her with her 
two sons. These, however well disposed to aid her, 
seem to have been at that time in no state to profit 
by her maternal instructions. For this design to 
murder, the wayfarers burned down the cabin, gave 
the furniture to an Indian who had warned Mr. Au- 
dubon of his danger, and justified the delinquents 
after the manner of the Regulators, a kind of extem- 
poral police established by volunteers to supply the 
defective shortness of the arm of the law. When 
an individual is discovered to have committed an 
offence of this or any other dangerous description, a 
court of rather a popular character assembles, and 
takes the case into serious consideration ; the accused 
is arrested and brought before them, his character 
and proceedings sharply investigated ; and, if the 
verdict of his peers pronounce him guilty, he is 
advised as a friend to seek out some other climate 
more favorable to his constitution. As there may be 
some little want of formality in the movements of 
the court, and the evidence may be at times deficient 
in precision, they judiciously lean to the side of 
mercy. In such cases, it is thought better for the 
suspected person to take the hint, and transport him- 
self beyond the bounds of their jurisdiction ; but, if 
he choose to remain, and is found repeating his 



BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 181 

transgressions, at the next term of the court he is 
put on trial, and severely punished if guilty. In 
many cases, the punishment is inflicted by castigation 
of the person, and destroying his house by fire, as in 
the instance of the lady above mentioned. Some- 
times it is thought necessary to resort to the punish- 
ment of death, in which case the head is aflixed to 
a pole, as a terror to evil-doers. All these punish- 
ments are found effectual, particularly the last. This 
kind of legal process is fast disappearing from the 
West. As we have said, Mr. Audubon affords us 
the contrast to his pictures. On the spot Avhere the 
soul of the ornithologist had so nearly taken flight, 
are found taverns, those outposts of civilization, and 
roads and cultivated fields, all redeemed from the 
wilderness in the short space of fifteen years. Now 
the axe is heard ringing from the banks of the rivers, 
and the fire by night clears out a path through the 
oceans of Avood ; the elks, deer, and buffaloes are 
passing to other regions ; our Government is aiding 
the cause in its own way, by grinding the Indians to 
powder, preaching all the while of mercy, justice, 
and protection ; words which make those who un- 
derstand our language decamp with all possible 
expedition. But we wuU not dwell on those surpris- 
ing changes, which Mr. Flint has made familiar in 
one of the most interesting works ever published 
in this country. Suffice it to say, that as men, not 
birds, are likely to be gainers by this miraculous 
transformation of a vast region, it is well that Mr. 
Audubon began his pilgrimage twenty years ago. 
We know not where the lover of a wilderness will 
IG 



182 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 

go twenty years hence to find the solitude he desires. 
Long before that time, we shall hear from travellers 
who have dammed up with their hands the parent- 
fountains of the great western rivers, and shared 
with the eagle his perch on the highest turret of the 
Rocky Mountains. 

Mr. Audubon gives us a pleasing picture of the 
hospitality which prevails in the western country, a 
virtue which by no means gains in the progress of 
civihzation, but is apt, on the contrary, to retreat 
when the sign of the tavern is displayed ; being, un- 
like many other things in this world, most abundant 
when and where it is most wanted. Once, when 
journeying with his son, he chartered a wagon for 
a portion of his journey ; and the wagoner, en- 
gaging to take him by a " short cut," he had the 
satisfaction to find himself exposed to a storm of 
thunder, in a night so dark that they could not have 
proceeded, even if they had known the way, every 
trace of which was lost. While sitting disconsolate, 
and dripping like Naiads, they determined to try, 
since the sagacity of man had brought them into 
difficulty, whether the sagacity of the horses would 
take them out. They left the animals to arrange 
matters at their discretion ; and they set forward, 
soon changing their course, and bringing them to a 
place where they heard the barking of dogs, and 
saw a light through the trees. They were soon re- 
ceived into the cabin of a young couple, who were 
delighted with the opportunity of giving them a 
welcome. The negro-boys were waked from their 
slumbers ; and, while some repaired the fire, others 



BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 183 

went forth to the hen-roost, av hence proceeded notes 
which indicated that the pouhry were bearing their 
part, though reluctantly, in the duties of hospitality. 
The table Avas soon spread, but the Avhiskey Avas 
Avanting ; and the master of the house, afflicted at 
this destitution, mounted his horse, rode through the 
storm to his father-in -laAv three miles off, and re- 
turned with a keg of cider. Mr. Audubon says, 
that his son, Avho Avas about fourteen years old, 
drcAV near to him, and remarked " hoAv pleasant it 
Avas to have met Avith such good people." The cabin 
afforded but one bed ; and, in spite of all remon- 
strances, the host and his AA'ife insisted upon making 
a division of its component parts, Avhich was done 
accordingly, and they AA^ere soon put into a sound 
sleep by a long story of the Avagoner, showing how 
mysterious it Avas that he should have lost his Avay. 
This temple of hospitality Avas constructed of logs, 
and the floor formed of coarse slabs of tulip-tree. 
A spinning-Avheel Avas standing in one corner ; the 
Avardrobe of the host Avas suspended from the Avail 
on one side, and that of his Avife from the other ; a 
small cupboard contained a fcAv dishes, cups, and 
tin pans. EA'ery thing Avas as neat as possible; but 
nothing indicated a condition above poverty, ex- 
cept an ornamented rifle. Nothing Avould induce 
the inmates to accept present or compensation : they 
detained the travellers as long as possible, and gave 
them up with regret. Truly, Ave should be inclined 
to call such a householder the most remarkable rara 
avis of Mr. Audubon's collection ; but there is reason 
to believe, that such liberal kindness to the stranger 



184 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRBS. 

is by no means uncommon in any part of our west- 
ern country. 

Our traveller appears to be one of those who can 
make himself easy under any circumstances, and 
therefore is not quite so dependent on such atten- 
tions as many others in the world. When he was 
patrolling the shores of Upper Canada, he says that 
some person stole his money, supposing that a na- 
turalist could do very well without it. We would 
not defend the knavery, but the event showed that 
the thief was not mistaken in his calculation. " To 
have repined, Avhen the thing could not be helped, 
would not have been acting manfully," says Mr. 
Audubon. It is a manly sentiment ; but, when 
things can be helped, there is no particular call for 
repining. He and his companion were left with 
seven dollars and a half, at the distance of fifteen 
hundred miles from home. At this time they were 
upon the water : Avhen they landed, they procured a 
conveyance for five dollars to the town of Mead- 
ville, and took lodgings at a tavern upon the way. 
At night, they were shown into a room in which 
there were several beds. Some time after they had 
retired, three young girls came into the chamber, 
and, having put out the light, placed themselves in a 
bed most distant from theirs. We beg our English 
readers, if such there be, to take notice that this was 
not in New York nor Boston ; and, in order to re- 
lieve as far as possible the fears of the worthy trav- 
ellers of that nation, we think we can safely assure 
them, that, if they venture into the United States, 
judging of those who follow from those who have 



BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 185 

gone before, neither man, woman, nor child will 
have ihe least disposition to force themselves into 
their society, either by night or day. This custom is 
peculiar to the backwoods ; and there seems to be 
some little excuse for it in the necessity of the case, 
Avhere the whole house affords but one chamber. 
Mr. Audubon had thrown out a hint concerning 
portrait-painting ; and the damsels, supposing the 
travellers asleep, descanted concerning the taking of 
portraits, explaining to each other how delightful it 
would be to see their own. In the morning he com- 
menced the sketches, and, beside paying for his lodg- 
ing, had the satisfaction of making some young hearts 
happy. When they arrived at Meadville, he took his 
portfolio under his arm, and, after walking the streets 
awhile, begged permission to rest in a shop : it was 
granted, and, as a matter of course, the contents of 
the portfolio shown to the trader, who not only con- 
tracted for a portrait of himself, but offered to find 
him as many sitters as were wanted. He procured 
a painting-roora ornamented with hogsheads of oats, 
rolls of sole-leather, a drum and bassoon in the cor- 
ner, fur caps along the wall, and a clerk's bed, 
swinging like a hammock, near the centre. Here 
he closed the windows with blankets to secure a 
jtaintefs light, and sketched his sitters much to their 
satisfaction. The result was, that his pockets grew 
heavy and his heart light. At the ordinary of the 
public house, Mr. Audubon, being taken for a mis- 
sionary, on account of his flowing hair, was asked 
to say grace, which he says he did with a fervent 
spirit. His pursuits seem to have had the right 

16* 



186 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 

and natural effect upon his feeling ; for he tells us, 
that he never has despaired of divine protection, while 
engaged in studying the grand and beautiful works 
of God. 

Among the entertaining incidents of his narrative, 
we find an account of his meeting with Daniel Boon, 
the celebrated patriarch of Kentucky. He happened 
to pass a night under the same roof with this remark- 
able man. Every thing about him, Mr. Audubon 
remarks, was striking. His stature approached the 
gigantic ; his form indicated great personal strength ; 
and his countenance bore an expression of thought- 
fulness and resolution. At night, when Mr. Audu- 
bon undressed as usual, he merely took oif his 
hunting-shirt, and spread a blanket on the floor, 
which, he said, he preferred to the softest bed. He 
told Mr. Audubon, that, many years before, he was 
taken prisoner by a party of Indians; bound, and 
carried to their camp, where he was frankly assured, 
by signs sufficiently expressive, that the next day 
would put an end to his mortal cares. The ladies of 
the party searched his dress, and, much to their satis- 
faction, laid their hands on a flask of monongahela, 
now a historical name, but then the designation of 
very strong whiskey. They drank freely of its con- 
tents, till the distant sound of a gun roused them ; 
and the warriors immediately Avent to ascertain the 
cause, leaving his fair guardians to their vigils and 
their whiskey. Fortunately for him, they showed a 
decided preference for the latter, to which they paid 
such unceasing attention that they were soon asleep. 
He then rolled himself to their fire, where he burned 



BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 187 

off his cords, and seized his rifle. He was strongly 
tempted to return evil for good to his snoring body- 
guard ; but he resisted, and, after striking two or 
three chips with a tomahawk from an ash-tree, in 
order to mark the spot, he departed in peace. 

Thirty years after this, when Col. Boon had re- 
treated before the approaching deluge of population, 
a person removed into Kentucky, where he laid 
claim to a large tract of land, one of the corners of 
Avhich was marked, as the deed ran, " by an 
ash, which was notched by three blows from the 
tomahawk of a white man." The object was to 
find this tree, in order to ascertain the boundary of 
the land. But the tree had grown, and the wood 
had covered the scars : no trace of it could be found. 
Under these circumstances, the owner, who had heard 
of Col. Boon's adventure, sent to him to come, and 
ascertain, if possible, the situation of the tree. Hav- 
ing no particular professional business nor domestic 
cares to detain him at home, the veteran came as 
desired. Everything was changed in the country ; 
but, having formed a party, and waited for the moon 
to rise, he endeavored to find the spot where the 
Indians had encamped ; and having, as he thought, 
succeeded, they remained there till the break of day. 
When it was light, he examined the spot, and declared 
that an ash, then in sight, was the one. Proper wit- 
nesses being brought, he struck the bark : no signs 
were seen ; he then cut deep into the tree, and at 
last found the distinct marks of the three notches, 
covered with thirty years' growth of wood. He was, 
when Mr. Audubon saw him, on his return to his 



188 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 

favorite solitudes. This Avas a surprising effort of 
memory, when we consider what a near resemblance 
one such spot bears to another, and what a difference 
the hand of man soon makes in them all. Mr. Au- 
dubon saw the old hunter perform the favorite Ken- 
tucky feat of barking off a squirrel. He pointed to 
a squirrel on a tree at the distance of fifty paces, 
raised his piece slowly; and, at the moment of the 
sharp, Avhip-like report, the bark immediately under 
the animal flew off in splinters, and the squirrel was 
whirled into the air, from which it fell dead. The 
dress of this "stoic of the woods" was a homespun 
hunting-shirt ; his feet were defended with moccasons, 
and his legs bare. It is difficult to explain the fas- 
cination of savage life ; but there are more examples 
than one, which prove that it is much more difficult 
to tame the wild than to make a savage of the civil- 
ized man. It cannot be ascribed to an aversion to 
restraint ; for such men as this are in general self- 
denying in every respect. There must be some 
delight in the excitement of solitude, independence, 
and adventure, which strangers to them cannot under- 
stand. When the gates of the West were first thrown 
open, they were thronged with many such adven- 
turers, who pushed their way through the deep forests, 
guided by the sun by day, and sleeping at night by 
their fires. Their furniture, and in fact all their Avealth, 
consisted of an axe and the all-important rifle : these, 
with their horses, Avere all their preparation, except 
we take into account, Avhat was Avorth all the rest, a 
bold and resolute heart. Their Avay Avas beset with 
the Indians, Avho seem to have had prophetic misgiv- 



BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 189 

ings, that all these movements boded no good to 
them, and who had the advantage of matchless cun- 
ning, and perfect familiarity with the country. Others, 
who carried more baggage with them, built arks on 
the rivers, Avhich, like that of Noah, Avere filled with 
all manner of living ihings, but not equally secure of 
divine protection ; for the heavy-laden vessel floated 
lazily down the stream, in silence by day, and with- 
out light or fire by night, lest they should be dis- 
covered by the enemy on the shores. When the 
voyage or the journey was over, a shelter was to be 
provided, the soil to be subdued, and the enemy 
repelled. It is not strange that many became at- 
tached for life to adventure, when for years there 
was not a moment in which they could lay aside their 
arms. Wherever a settlement has been made in the 
deserts of our country, it has been, both at the East 
and West, established in the face of many dangers, 
threatened by the wild inhabitants ; but there are 
some indications in our history of late, which show 
that it was easier to gain than it is now to refrain 
from abusing our power. 

Beside the opportunity of becommg acquamted 
with man under Avild and peculiar circumstances, 
Mr. Audubon has had the advantage, w^hich as a 
naturalist he doubtless appreciates, of Avitnessing 
several con\nilsions of nature. He does not men- 
tion the years ; but Ave remember, that, about tAA^enty 
years ago, earthquakes became unpleasantly al)un- 
dant in the South and West. It was probably at 
that time that he Avas one day, AA^hen riding, sur- 
prised by a darkness in the heavens. Being as much 



190 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 

accustomed to thunderstorms as the birds themselves, 
he took but Httle notice of it further than to urge his 
horse forward ; but the animal paid no regard to 
his recommendation, and, instead of advancing, 
planted his feet deliberately and firmly upon the 
ground. The rider was upon the point of dismount- 
ing to lead him, when the horse began to groan, 
hung down his head, and spread out his limbs as 
Avidely as possible. He was entirely at a loss to 
knoAv what all this might mean, and could only sup- 
pose that the animal was suddenly seized with mor- 
tal agony ; when the earth began to roll, the shrubs 
and trees rocked and Avaved before him, and the 
convulsive shuddering of the whole frame of nature 
made it evident that an earthquake was passing by. 
Shocks succeeded each other for several weeks ; and 
as most of the houses were by no means towering 
structures, he became familiar with the prospect of 
being buried under their ruins. One night, after 
attending a wedding, he slept in the house of a phy- 
sician, which was constructed of logs, and large 
enough to receive a considerable number of persons. 
At night, the earthquake lifted up its voice in such a 
manner that all started from their slumbers, and 
rushed out, without waiting for the ceremony of the 
toilet, or even taking care to secure any drapery at 
all. The clouds were floating Avildly past the full 
moon, the trees waving like grass in the breeze, 
Avhen the doctor, his prudence getting the better of 
his fears, ran to save his gallipots, which were dan- 
cing on their shelves in an awful manner, and about 
to leap to the floor ; but arrived too late to prevent a 



BIOGRAPHY' OF BIRDS. 191 

general wreck. The moment the danger was past, 
and the promiscuous assembly began to consider 
their defect of raiment, a consternation of a different 
sort succeeded, and drove them back to bed with 
equal expedition, 

Mr. Audubon was also fortunate enough to witness 
a hurricane. We say fortunate, since it crossed 
his path without injury to him. He describes it 
admirably, and we wish we had room to give his 
own full picture of the scene. He saw in the south- 
Avest a yellowish oval spot, and felt a sharp breeze 
passing, which increased rapidly, tearing away tAvigs 
and smaller branches from the trees, till the Avhole 
forest was in dizzy motion. The largest trunks of 
the wood were bent, and at last broken. The stormy 
whirlpool carried thick-rolling masses of foliage and 
boughs, together with a cloud of dust ; and the 
gigantic trees were seen writhing and groaning, as 
if in agony, for a moment, when they fell in shape- 
less heaps of ruin. This great work of destruction 
was over soon ; but a shower of small branches 
followed in its Avake, as if draAvn oiiAvard by some 
mysterious power ; the sky had a lurid, greenish hue, 
and the atmosphere Avas filled Avith a sulphury smell. 
The path of this tornado extended many hundred 
miles. Mr. Audubon Avas on horseback this time, 
as Avell as before ; but the animal betrayed no alarm. 
The reason, doubtless, of his perceiving the earth- 
quake so much earlier than his master, Avas that his 
feet were on the ground, and his rider's Avere not ; 
and, had they been in the same circumstances, the 
biped Avould probably have been less affected than 



192 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 

the animal, Avho was shaken at four points histead 
of two. 

We have given this general account of the work 
before us, to show the variety of entertaining sub- 
jects which the writer has introduced ; and we com- 
mend his judgment in so doing. It takes from the 
scientific air of the work, and offers an attraction to 
a greater number of readers. It also serves to show 
through how many and various scenes he has passed 
in his wanderings, and thereby gives a livelier im- 
pression of the enthusiasm and resolution which such 
an enterprise requires. On one occasion, his forti- 
tude was severely tried. Having secured two hun- 
dred of his original drawings in a wooden box, he 
left them in the care of a friend, during his absence 
on a journey. When he returned, he re-claimed his 
treasure, and found that a couple of NorAvay rats, 
acting doubtless on the principle that " a living dog 
is better than a dead lion," had gnawed his papers 
to pieces, and feathered their nest with one thousand 
painted inhabitants of the air. This was a severe 
blow ; and many men under it would have forsworn 
the pursuit for ever. But Mr. Audubon thought, as 
Bottom did, that " what could not be endured must 
be ciured ; " and, after a short period of suffering, 
look his gun, note-book and pencils, and went forth 
into the woods again. Nothing daunted him, where 
he could revive his strength by communion with 
nature ; but, when he was on the way to England, 
and when first walking the streets of Liverpool, 
he says that his heart almost failed him, and that he 
lonijed to retreat into the woods. But this desolate 



BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 193 

feeling only made the kindness of enlightened men 
in that city, which was freely given to him, more 
animating and delightful. After receiving the most 
encouraging attentions there, he proceeded to Edin- 
burgh, where his reception was equally flattering ; 
and there he commenced the publication of his 
" Illustrations. " It Avould have been continued 
there, had not his engraver advised him to seek an 
artist in London. 

Mr. Audubon, we observe, addresses a word to 
critics ; but these are works with Avhich critics have 
not much to do, or with respect to which they can 
only discharge that part of their duty which is gen- 
erally thought to give them least pleasure, — we 
mean, praise. No one can see these splendid draw- 
ings, and compare them with the ordinary illustra- 
tions of natural history, — in which animals appear 
as spiritless as if they had been sitting for their 
portraits, — without admiring his taste and skill. 
Instead of a soHtary individual, we have here groups 
of each kind, in all the attitudes of life ; and, as the 
plumage of birds is often entirely changed in passing 
from youth to maturity, as the female also generally 
differs very much in color from the male, a single 
representation would be of little value. We might 
easily criticize the drawing and coloring in some 
small respects, and say that it difliers from our limited 
observation ; but the obvious reply is, that he has 
seen hundreds where we have seen one. The his- 
tory of the birds of our country is still imperfect ; 
and whoever undertakes to reduce it to a system 
will find every new explorer correcting some of his 
17 



194 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 

errors. What he describes as the constant habits of 
a class may appear to be only accidental peculiarities 
of individuals ; and, as birds are affected by climate, 
food, and various other circumstances, the result of 
many observations will be exceedingly apt to over- 
turn the theories and systems buHt upon a few. We 
do not, therefore, complain of the want of systematic 
order in the arrangement of the subjects of this work : 
at present, there would be no advantage in such an 
undertaking. But, when this great work is com- 
pleted, we think Mr. Audubon will do well to follow 
his own suggestion, and to give a systematic view of 
the American bkds, and his own contributions to the 
known number. It is well that the world should 
know the exact value of his labors, before he gives 
the work over to other hands. 

The science of ornithology is indebted to Mr. 
Audubon for the discovery and description of an 
eagle, to which he has appropriately given the name 
of Washington. It is the largest and most powerful 
of all the race of birds. Mr. Nuttall suspects that it 
may exist in Europe, and be the same with the great 
sea-eagle described by Brisson, which, in size and 
plumage, resembles this species more than any other. 
Mr. Audubon first met with it, when engaged in a 
trading voyage on the upper Mississippi. An intel- 
ligent Canadian, on seeing this bird floating above 
them, remarked that it was the great eagle, and the 
only one he had seen since he left the lakes. He 
described it as a bird which built its nest in shelves 
of rocks, and lived by fishing, like the fishing-hawk, 
sometimes following the hunters to secure the ani- 



BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 195 

mals they slew. Mr. Audubon was convinced from 
this account that the bird was undescribed, and says 
that the feelings of Herschel, when he discovered 
his planet, must have been less rapturous than his 
own . 

But several years passed before he encountered it 
again. He was one day engaged in collecting cray- 
fish, near Green river, in Kentucky, where a range 
of high cliffs approaches the stream, when he found 
traces of an eagle, which his companion said was 
the bald eagle in its immature state. Mr. Audubon, 
knowing that this species builds in trees, and not on 
the rocks, was persuaded that this was an error : 
his companion maintained the contrary, and assured 
him that he had seen the old eagle dive, and catch a 
fish. This also was unlike the bald eagle, which, as 
all know, gets his living in a less honest way. Not 
being able to decide the point, they agreed to Avait 
till the old birds came to feed their young. Two 
hours passed heavily away, when the coming of 
the parent was announced by the loud hissing of the 
two young ones, which crawled to the edge of 
the rock to receive a fish which was brought them. 
The observers kept a profound silence ; but, when 
the mother returned shortly after, also bearing a fish, 
her quicker eye detected the spies, and she set up a 
loud scream, when both birds hovered over them 
with a growling cry till they left the spot. When 
they returned a day or two after, intending to scale 
the cliff and storm the nest, they found that the 
birds had anticipated their design, and that the 
whole family had retreated. It was not till two 



196 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 

years afterward that, he saw this bird again. He 
was near the village of Henderson, with his double- 
barrelled gun, when he saw it rising from an enclosure 
Avhere some animals had been slaughtered, and alight 
upon a low tree. Thence the eagle looked at him 
calmly and fearlessly, till he fired, and it fell dead. 
The bird which he describes is an adult male, and 
measures in length three feet seven inches, in extent 
ten feet and two inches. This is a prodigious size ; 
but, among all birds of prey, the female is larger than 
the male. If this rule hold good here, and there is 
no reason to doubt it, we may account for its not 
building on trees, as a French writer explains the 
reason of the condor's laying its eggs on the naked 
rock, " because the excessive sweep of its wings 
makes it impossible for it to enter the woods." Mr. 
Audubon compares this bird minutely with the sea- 
eagle, and shows wherein they differ : in the bird of 
Washington the tail is considerably longer than the 
closed wings ; in the sea-eagle the length is equal. 
The sea-eagle resembles it in most points, but cannot 
be the same, being merely the young of the white- 
tailed eagle. Mr. Nuttall suggests, that a larger 
species may be confounded with this young bird by 
European naturalists, a thing which has often hap- 
pened in other similar cases. 

Beside adding to the list of our birds, Mr. Audu- 
bon has increased our stock of information concerning 
those already known, by relating anecdotes of his 
own intercourse with them, and facts in their history 
which had escaped all other observers. The mock- 
ing-bird appears in his description like a new crea- 



BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 197 

lion of fancy. You see him flying in graceful circles 
round his mate, with his eyes gleaming with wild 
delight ; then alighting near her, and bowing with 
his wings lightly opened, you hear him pouring out 
a concert of all sweet sounds, as if his heart were 
bursting with rapture. When they have made their 
nest, if the eggs are displaced or removed during the 
short absences of the mother, they breathe a low, 
mournful note, as if in sympathy with each other. 
They do not fear the presence of man, for they 
know that they have enemies more dangerous than 
he : they come familiarly to the gardens and planta- 
tions, sometimes perching on roofs and chimney- 
tops, and enchanting all who hear them Avith their 
unrivalled song. One thing in their history is very 
remarkable. It is known that some of them visit the 
Eastern States, being seen occasionally in the vicinity 
of Boston. When these wanderers return, they are 
instantly known by the others, who attack them, as 
if to punish them for wishing to be wiser than their 
neighbors ; and, instead of listening to the story of 
their travels, force them to keep apart, at least till 
they have ascertained that their manners are not, as 
is sometimes the case, altered for the worse by mak- 
ing the grand tour. We knew that these sectional 
jealousies were tolerably strong in men, and why 
wonder that they are found in birds ? Really, the 
creature that lacks discourse of reason might most 
naturally be expected to indulge such feelings and 
passions. 

We have endeavored to give such an account of 
the contents of this work as would induce our readers 
17* 



198 BIOGRAPHY OF BIRDS. 

to make themselves acquainted with it, and have not 
said a Avord respecting the doctrine of types, affinities, 
analogies, progress, development, or quinary circles. 
If Mr. Audubon had contented himself with Linnean 
descriptions, he would have had the honor of dis- 
covering more birds than readers. Such books as 
Dr. Lasham's " General History of Birds," though 
convenient works of reference for those who are 
acquainted with the subject, are not particularly fas- 
cinating to those who desire to learn. We are not 
so much troubled in mind, however, as Mr. Rennie, 
well known as the author of " Insect Architecture" 
and " Architecture of Birds," who is for cutting up 
all system, and casting it aAvay : on the contrary, w^e 
think his own entertaining writings would be im- 
proved by a little more attention to arrangement ; 
for, though a work which is nothing but index is 
dry reading, a work without index is at times exqui- 
sitely provoking, as, in reading the history of France, 
Mezerai is less agreeable than Henault. Classifica- 
tion we take to be mere matter of convenience ; 
and, in a collection of specimens, we certainly Avould 
rather have the birds w^ithout the labels, than the 
labels without the birds. The way to become inter- 
ested in this study, and to pursue it with success, is to 
learn it in the book of nature ; its pages are full of 
inspiration ; and, while the hundred volumes of sci- 
entific ornithologists create no general interest in 
their favorite pursuits, whoever will go into the 
fields and forests, and look about him with an atten- 
tive eye, will study the science most successfully, 
learning it not by memory, but by heart. 



199 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE. 



lives of Men of Letters and Science, wlio flourished in the Time 
of George the Third. By Henry, Lord Brougham. Phila- 
delphia: Carey and Plart, 1845 ; 12rao, pp. 295. 

There can be no doubt that Lord Brougham, how- 
ever he may be estmiated in future times as a stales- 
man, will figure as one of the most remarkable men 
of the age in Avhich he lives. He is chiefly distin- 
guished for his restless, impatient, feverish activity 
of mind ; a trait not common among the sons of 
men, few of whom have any quick spring of action 
within to drive them to incessant exertion, but gen- 
erally require external inducements of interest or pas- 
sion to bring forth all their powers. As an orator, 
he has appeared pre-eminent among the great, exert- 
ing a mighty influence in favor of some essential 
reforms in the government of his country, which, 
mainly because they were so necessary, were fiercely 
and bitterly resisted. As a lawyer, he has been pop- 
ular and successful ; though generally allowed to be 
unsuited to the high judicial station for which he was 
thought the very man, till he had reached it. As a 
lover of his race, he is ever ready to exert himself in 



200 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 

the cause of humanity, and not more savage, perhaps, 
than is common with the philanthropists of the day. 
As a man, giving no single impression of his own 
character, but hurrying on through perpetual changes, 
where neither praise nor censure can steadily follow, 
he has been a willing slave to impulses of any kind, 
and particularly sensitive to slights and irritations ; 
jealous of his own standing, and needlessly overbear- 
ing in defence of it ; so insolent and vindictive in 
his usual tone, that self seems always to enter into 
his assertion of the right, or condemnation of the 
wrong. It is only by an average of merits and fail- 
ings that one can arrive at any consistent and satis- 
factory idea of this great and active, but not amiable 
man ; who will hereafter be remembered with won- 
der certainly, but, if his latter days shall be cast in 
resemblance of the former, never with admiration or 
love. 

It is well that he has thus put ashore from the 
troubled sea of politics, to walk on the quiet sands, 
and gather a few pearls from the beach. For it is 
clear that he does not require the stimulus of external 
excitement to bring his mental energies into efficient 
action. By a necessity of his nature, he must work 
in one way or another ; and, indolence and stagnation 
being thus out of the question, he might have done 
as much for the cause of reform and humanity by 
passionless literary labors, as by those fierce declama- 
tions in parliament, in which he seems full as intent 
on scalping his enemies as on defending the great 
rights of man. No one has a broader discernment 
of the merits of moral and intellectual questions ; no 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 201 

one is more fearless in battling prejudice, or correct- 
ing established errors. In these biographical sketches, 
lie states his opinions in a tone more respectful and 
conciliatory than ever before ; and the reader feels, 
what indeed is everywhere true, that kindness of 
manner is an essential grace to open the path to con- 
viction. But how far he might be able to lay per- 
manently aside his former tastes and habits of thought 
and feeling ; how successfully, after riding the whirl- 
Avind, and being himself the storm, he might subside 
into the repose of an autumn day ; how the fierce 
leader of the opposition would reconcile himself to the 
patient investigation, unexciting interest, and calm 
expression Avhich beseem the literary life, — it is not 
easy to foretell. Little was indicated by his " Lives 
of Statesmen," which Avere nothing more than the 
history of his battles, with reminiscences of his com- 
rades and foes. Neither are the present sketches 
sufficiently labored and extended to be the test of 
success. Proceeding from such a hand, they must, 
of course, bear marks of great ability ; but they do 
not show that any great expense of time or thought 
has been given to the subject, nor do they enable us 
to determine Avhat sort of literary man the Chancel- 
lor would have made. 

One is not a little surprised, on first entering his 
gallery of portraits, to encounter the sharp and sar- 
castic visage of Voltaire, with Rousseau at his side. 
It is not easy to see the association which connects 
him Avith George the Third, either in the Avay of lit- 
erature or religion, save that the king Avas the patron 
of the Quaker gun with Avhich Dr. Beattie cannon- 



202 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 

aded the sceptics, venerating it as a miraculous piece 
of ordnance, though it was difficult to discover what 
execution it had ever done. To say the truth, this 
collection savors of the taste exhibited in Dryburgh 
Abbey, where the Earl of Buchan embellished the 
ruin with busts of Socrates, Sir Isaac Newton, and 
Paul Jones. At the same time, it is certain that Vol- 
taire did live in the time of George the Third, and, 
though not among the ornaments of his court or his 
reign, comes as near as Macedon to Monmouth ; and 
no man can gainsay the right of the noble lord to 
paint what portraits he pleases. On the whole, it is 
as well that he did not begin with Johnson, the more 
natural and prominent figure of the two, and consid- 
erably more English than the other ; for it is quite 
clear, from his occasional allusions to the moralist, 
that he has not that sympathy with " brave old Sam- 
uel" which would give him power to understand 
him. He expresses great contempt for the sage's 
want of manners ; a deficiency, however, not con- 
fined to that diseased and sorrowful man ; since, if 
report speak true, it is not quite supplied in some 
high places in England, even to the present day. 

Lord Brougham is above the affectation of para- 
dox, in dealing with Voltaire. He does not, accord- 
ing to the taste which so great a genius as Carlyle 
has the merit of introducing, call upon us to do reve- 
rence to him as a Christian, saint, and martyr. But 
he takes an ingenious view of the subject, contending 
that whoever does not believe in a God cannot be 
guilty of blasphemy against him, however he may 
shock the religious sentiments of men. But Voltaire 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 203 

was no atheist; and, in his defence, the Chancellor 
maintains, that, not believing in the divine mission, 
perhaps not in the existence, of the Saviour, he can- 
not be chargeable with impiety on account of his 
ridicule of Christ and his religion, Avhile, at the same 
time, he may be guilty of insult and irreverence to- 
wards men, by his profane abuse of those subjects 
which they hold most sacred and nearest to their 
hearts. Perhaps there is some confusion of thought 
generally prevailing in relation to this matter : but 
the feeling is sufficiently well defined, and it is in sub- 
stance this ; that, whether a man believes in the Chris- 
tian religion or not, there are principles and affections 
which have claim to the deepest respect from every 
good heart. Of these the author of Christianity 
was, as none deny, the best presentment and illustra- 
tion. Whoever can find it in himself to treat this 
person with contempt can have no sympathy with 
these principles and affections ; and it is on this 
account, not because he was not convinced by the 
arguments in favor of the divine origin of the religion, 
that Voltaire has been regarded with so much aver- 
sion in the Christian world. 

At the same time, we must remember the circum- 
stances under which his impressions of Christianity 
were formed. It was probably identified in his mind 
with a worldly and licentious priesthood, who, though 
notorious infidels themselves, were believed to have 
the power of pardoning the transgressions of others, 
while their own lives were passed in the lowest depths 
of sin. Surrounded, as religion was in his view, with 
doctrines the most offensive to reason, and connected 



204 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 

with practices the most revolting, it must have been 
a clear mind and heart which could look through the 
thousand folds of corruption that bound it, and dis- 
cern the basis of substantial truth and exceilence 
which was then, and is now, the foundation of its 
strength, and the hiding-place of hs power. Sharp- 
sighted as Voltaire was, he was not the man, in his 
calmest estate, to take the broadest and most philo- 
sophical view of moral subjects. His eye was more 
quick to discern faults and vices than to discover 
and do justice to merits and virtues ; so that, suppos- 
ing his life had passed in quiet, he would not have 
been likely to see the form and expression of Chris- 
tianity through the disguise which it wore. But, when 
we remember that his life, or rather his earlier hfe, 
was passed in storm and tempest; that he was pain- 
fully sensitive to every thing like insult and irritation ; 
that he had the winning ways which are sure to bring 
a perfect shower of these blessings on his head ; and 
that, so far from pretending to be insensible, he 
invited new pelting by making it manifest that every 
missile told, — it is not very surprising that he did 
not distinguish carefully between Christianity and 
Christians, nor that he should have ascribed to the 
influence of their religion that venomous spirit of his 
enemies, who professed to be resenting the wrongs 
of their faith, while they were in fact avenging their 
own. 

We do not greatly admire the manner which Chris- 
tians have adopted in their treatment of unbelievers, 
nor can we Avonder that the converts made by it are 
so few. It very much resembles the tone of the Ven- 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 205 



erable in Tucker's " Vision : " — " ' lam suspicious 
that my boy does not fully comprehend you.' ' No ? ' 
said he : 'he must be a blockhead, a numbskull, 
not to say a beetle, a blunderbuss, if he does not.' 
' Oh ! yes,' said I, ' the doctor has made the matter 
clear as the sun.' " This manner of clearing up 
difficulties has been the one generally resorted to ; 
but, efficient and decided as it seems, it is far more 
satisfactory to those who employ it than to the sin- 
ners whom it is meant to enlighten ; and we cannot 
perceive that the tendency to infidelity is materially 
diminished, vigorously as it has been applied in the 
Christian world. Strange though it seem, we may 
rage and fret against infidels, without giving them 
any vivid idea of the beauty of holiness ; and the 
more we rate them for their stupid insensibility, the 
less value do they seem to set on Christian gentle- 
ness and love. Moreover, the world has become so 
accustomed to this manner of dealing with them, 
that, whenever the Christian advocate opens his lips, 
they take it for granted that such is his tone. Sym- 
pathy, which has thus been sent over to the wrong 
side, feels for them before they suffer wrong. If the 
believer simply says that his opinions differ from 
theirs, it is taken for grievous persecution ; so that, 
perhaps from experience of the uselessness, not to 
say the injurious effect, of their former course, the 
defenders of the faith may perhaps at last remember 
the advice of Gamaliel, — to which they have paid 
every compliment except that of minding it, — " Re- 
frain from these men, and let them alone." 

Lord Brougham takes ground upon the subject of 
18 



206 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 

punishing blasphemy and infidel assaults upon reli- 
gion ; contending, — and he is confirmed by all ex- 
perience in his position, — that all such revenge, for 
it is little better, always does more harm than good ; 
a fact sufficiently attested by the state of things in 
his own land, where such writings have been kept 
in demand by their being thus outlawed ; while in 
this country, where they are neglected by the law, 
they die of themselves with marvellous expedition. 
Every attempt to sustain religion in the same way on 
this side the sea has invariably resulted in giving 
notoriety and a degree of sympathy to those who 
would have been long enough in obtaining it by any 
means of their own. We are here informed, that 
Wilberforce was opposed to all prosecutions for 
offences of this kind ; rightly judging, that the Rock 
of Ages could stand of itself, and it was but dis- 
honored when it had the appearance of receiving 
support from the arm of power. It is rather strange, 
that, when the best and wisest friends of Christianity 
have so long been of this opinion, their influence 
should not have had more effect ; for it is not a new 
impression. Jeremy Taylor says, that force thus 
applied can only make a hypocrite, and every time 
this is done, " instead of erecting a trophy to God 
and true religion, we build a monument to the 
devil," — a piece of sepulchral architecture as un- 
necessary as it is undeserved ; since, if it be true 
that having one's own way is favorable to long life, 
and these means of sustaining religion are certainly 
such as that potentate most enjoys, there is no pros- 
pect of his requiring these obituary honors for some 
time yet to come. 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 207 

But all that can be said of the folly of persecuting 
those who reject Christianity will not excuse Voltaire. 
His character is not cleared by pointing out the sins 
of his opposers ; and there is doubtless an impression 
made and sustained by his life and writings, that, 
while he had sagacity enough to see what Chris- 
tianity really was through all the cloud of its corrup- 
tions, his heart was not in harmony Avith its spirit. 
There was nothing within him which answered to its 
voice ; and it was not so much ignorance of its true 
character, as a want of sympathy with it, which 
made him so willing to undermine its foundations in ' 
the minds and hearts of men. In the " Pucelle 
d'Orleans," which is commonly regarded as the most 
spirited and able of his works, bringing out in full 
energy those peculiar talents in which no one ever 
exceeded him, there is a taste for indecency so evi- 
dently hearty and inbred, so ostentatiously paraded 
in every part, wath such a perfect indifference to 
the detestable doctrines he was teaching, that all the 
manly spirit and generous feeling which appeared in 
other passages of his life seem like irregular and 
transient impulses, and Ave are persuaded that we 
have here the true presentment of his soul. And 
sensual, selfish, and detestable assuredly it is ; full of 
savage sneers at every thing high and holy ; revel- 
ling with disgusting satisfaction in those subjects on 
which few can bear to look, and exerting all the 
might of a powerful but depraved imagination to 
efface the lines of separation between vice and vir- 
tue, glory and shame. It is true, there are other 
works of his which would give a different impres- 



208 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 

sion ; but he was several years in writing this, and 
it is evidently the free and natural outpouring of his 
heart. Is any injustice done to Byron by looking to 
Don Juan as a true portrait of the man ? Is not Rous- 
seau to be seen in his " Confessions," through the 
fancy dress which he endeavors to wear ? These, 
like the " Pucelle," were the most hearty efforts of the 
writers. If they give wrong impressions of the seve- 
ral sources whence they originated, the authors have 
none but themselves to blame ; and surely none 
would expect a pure rehgion to find a warm wel- 
come in such spirits as theirs. Ii is true, there are 
certain authorities who would persuade us that a 
delight in filth is a thing of the outside merely, and 
should be no disparagement to a poet's claim to be 
accounted great and good. But they only succeed 
in giving an unsavory impression of themselves ; for 
luckily there are such things as common sense and 
common decency ; and, while this is the case, the 
world will never believe them. 

It seems ridiculous enough to pretend that Vohaire 
was a self- forgetful friend of humanity ; for, though 
he made vigorous resistance to oppression, it so hap- 
pened that all the while he was fighting his own 
battles, and avenging his own personal wrongs. In 
his time, the gilt and pasteboard figure-head of roy- 
alty was in the front of the vessel of state ; and men 
were under the amazing delusion, that the image 
directed its motion, and gave it most of its power. 
Nothing could exceed the subserviency with which 
intellectual men bowed down before it. A great 
poet, after the representation of one of his own 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 209 

plays, ventured to ask, as the king was passing, " Is 
Trajan satisfied ? " and when Trajan, whose opinion 
was worthless, even if he had activity of mind enough 
to form one, thought proper to hide his stolidity under 
the form of displeasure, and refused to notice the 
question, the poet thought proper to die of a broken 
heart. 

Voltaire was a man of stronger spirit; and, truly, 
he had enough to provoke a more patient man, in 
the poor and vexatious injuries which the court was 
constantly inflicting upon him. After the death of 
Louis the Fourteenth, he was imprisoned, without 
trial, for some libel on the memory of that prince, 
which he was falsely charged with writing. After 
having been beaten by a poor creature of a courtier, 
or rather by his servants, Voltaire ventured to send 
him a challenge ; and, for this breach of the privi- 
lege of men of rank to be base and cowardly, he 
was obliged to fly to England to escape the Bastile. 
As to his quarrels with individuals, which were num- 
berless, he could not complain of the hot water in 
which he lived, since it was he himself who heated 
it ; but in his intercourse with his superiors, as they 
are so absurdly called, he appears to have thought it 
a proper concession to their rank that they should 
have most of the blame to themselves. This was 
particularly true in regard to Frederic of Prussia, 
one of those pests of mankind who are complimented 
with the name of Great ; a man of great talents 
certainly, but, in private life, a mixture of the mon- 
key and savage, and, like one of Fielding's charac- 
ters, carrying a bit of flint about with him by way of 

18* 



210 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 

heart. His treatment of the poet was a compound 
of flattery and jealous dislike : he had sense enough 
to knoAV Voltaire's immense superiority to himself in 
all intellectual pretension, and meanness enough to 
hate him for it. He appeared to think as if, by pull- 
ing down Voltaire, he could elevate himself; as if, 
by causing the hangman to throw the poet's writ- 
ings into the fire, he could throw some fire into his 
own. 

It is inconceivable, that, with the spirit which Vol- 
taire manifested on other occasions, he could have 
submitted to all manner of abuse and impertinence 
from Frederic, as he did, not in silence, but with 
degrading humihty, so long as he was within the 
reach of the wild beast's claws. On the whole, he 
received but wretched treatment from those who 
were above him in the social scale : had he resented 
it with a thousand times more spirit, he would have 
been not only forgiven, but worthy of praise. As it 
was, he did more than any one else, not so much by 
direct effort as by the brilliancy of his talents, to 
remove the bar of separation betAveen rank and tal- 
ent ; a triumph of genius, certainly, though it may 
be doubted whether either party gains much by being 
brought nearer to the other. 

There were occasions when Voltaire, forgetting 
himself, and having no personal interest in the sub- 
ject, went forward in the cause of justice and hu- 
manity with intrepidity and power. The case of 
Galas is an example, — an old Calvinist, whose son, 
shortly after becoming a Catholic, committed suicide 
by hanging himself. A fanatical magistrate threw 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 211 

the whole family mto prison, accusing the father, a 
feeble old man, of the murder of his son, though he 
had treated with great liberality another son who had 
become a Catholic, and there was not a shadow of 
proof to show that he was in any way connected 
with the deed. The stupid populace took up the 
prejudice, and raged against the innocent family ; 
while the court, before which the accused was 
brought, conde.»nned the old man to be broken aUve 
on the wheel, and the parliament of Toulouse con- 
firmed the proceedings. After this judicial miu"der, 
the family applied to Voltaire for aid and protection, 
which he readily gave them ; and for several years 
he labored to procure a reversal of the villanous 
sentence, setting himself against popular prejudice 
and civil and ecclesiastical power with a courage and 
ability which gave the Protestants a sense of security 
which they had not before. He succeeded so far as 
to save the rest of the family, and to bring them 
pecuniary compensation for their wrongs. The sen- 
tence was reversed ; but the parliament unhappily 
was not forced to acknowledge the justice of the 
reversal : whether they had acted like fools or knaves, 
they were permitted to sustain their reputation, though 
such deeds could not be repeated. 

But we give him all praise for his efforts on this 
occasion ; for it was obviously one in which self was 
not concerned. The infusion of that element was so 
overflowing and excessive, that, wherever it came, it 
seemed to destroy his moral feeling, rendering him 
incapable of any sustained elevation of character, and 
showing that, however sincere his good feeling might 



212 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 

be, there was no basis of principle under it, and there- 
fore its duration was not to be trusted. The Abbe 
des Fontaines had been indebted to him for his 
escape from a disgraceful charge : he was a person 
of scandalous character, and little deserved such 
friendly interposition. Afterwards, the miserable 
creature, probably for the sake of gain, wrote a libel 
on his benefactor, as indeed he did on all who were 
high enough to be so complimented ; upon which, 
Voltaire, though he fully believed the man's inno- 
cence, lilve all others who knew any thing about the 
matter, reproduced the false charge, not only in his 
letters, but in one of his poems ; thus endeavoring to 
seek revenge by repeating an accusation which he 
himself had shown to be untrue. As to this virtue 
of truth, he was in the habit of treating it with very 
distant respect, and without the least approach to fa- 
miliarity. When his " Letters on England" brought 
him into trouble, he publicly denied their authorship, 
and ascribed them to the Abbe Chauliere, Avho was 
no longer living to contradict him. Whenever he 
brought himself into a scrape by his epigrams and 
lampoons, he made no scruple of disowning them. 
Though he could not be blind to the injustice of the 
partition of Poland, still, in his correspondence with 
Frederic and Catherine at the time, so far from 
speaking Avhat he thought, he rather complimented 
those unscrupulous picaroons. Indeed, he went so 
far as to call the empress's share in it " noble, use- 
ful, and just ; " terms as nearly as possible the exact 
reverse of the truth, and Avhich no man with a ves- 
tige of a conscience, one would suppose, could ever 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 213 

have thought of employing. With facts hke these 
before us, it must be a very resolute and determined 
enthusiasm which can admire the character of Vol- 
taire, though no one can deny that his great and 
various powers have rendered good service, in many 
respects, to the cause of man. 

It appears to us, that Lord Brougham, probably 
from a sense of the injustice which has been done to 
Voltaire, and a desire to break through the unpleas- 
ant associations Avhich his name so generally awa- 
kens, has suffered himself to be carried to excess on 
the opposite side, when he says that there is no one 
since Luther to whom the human mind is more in- 
debted for release from the bondage of spiritual 
power. Voltaire's sarcasm and wit were marvel- 
lous ; his principles, generally invisible to the naked 
eye ; his argument, sufficiently sparing. There are 
no instances given of bold defiance of authority, of 
dangers braved for the sake of conscience, or of ear- 
nest eloquence inspired by the truth alone. It was 
the unselfish intrepidity of the brave Reformer, his 
doing and daring for defence of the truth, and 
his lofty disregard of all personal dangers, which 
make mankind forget his faults, which were many, 
and exalt him to a place in history glorious, kingly, 
and commanding. If any things similar to these 
can be found in Voltaire's career, they have escaped 
our observation. His talents, to the full extent of 
his claims, no one wishes to deny ; but in the moral 
elements of greatness he was desperately poor ; and 
his biographer should not suffer himself or others to 
forget, that character, even with inferior powers, is 



214 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 

more likely than the highest ability, without principle, 
to insure a great and lasting place in the reverence 
of men. 

The next personage drawn by the Chancellor is 
introduced as a bitter enemy of Voltaire. Among 
authors, this is a very easy and natural association ; 
for, while the friendships of the irritable race recorded 
in literary history are few and small, their quarrels, 
numberless and eternal, are the burden of almost 
every page. In this conflict between the man of 
sarcasm and the man of sentiment, the former Avas 
most to blame ; since Rousseau, who was a score 
of years younger, felt and expressed, at first, great 
respect for Voltaire, which the latter, who enjoyed 
such homage, was not slow in returning. But 
Rousseau took exception at some of his opinions ; 
and Voltaire, though he declined all argument on 
the subject, was not pleased to have his judgment 
called in question, particularly by one who seemed 
likely to carry a heavier gun in controversy than 
himself. In sober reasoning neither party excelled ; 
but Rousseau showed that earnestness and seeming 
conviction, before which wit can maintain only a 
light skirmish, and is sure to be driven from the 
ground. Meantime, Rousseau had taken arms 
against the theatre, and was supposed by Voltaire 
to have excited the Genevans against him, partly 
on that account, and also because of his infidelity, 
though Rousseau could hardly have preached from 
that text without bruising his own unbelieving head. 
The amount of the whole was, that they had become 
jealous of each other : Rousseau was wounded by 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 215 

Voltaire's grotesque saying, that, when he read the 
eulogies on the savage state, he felt an irresistible 
desire " to creep on all-fours ; " and Voltau-e felt an 
apprehension lest the younger pretender might, by 
dint of earnest eloquence, work his way to a reputa- 
tion greater than his own. In 1760, Rousseau ad- 
dressed to him a crazy letter, in which he declared 
that the Ferney theatricals had made his life a burden 
to him ; and charged to the Ferney influence his own 
misery, proscription, and banishment from home. 
Voltaire never answered ; the charge betokened too 
much insanity to admit a reply ; but, harmless as the 
letter was, he resented the want of veneration im- 
plied in writing it, and ever after satirized the writer 
with the greatest bitterness, knowing, without a di- 
rect conflict, how to take the deepest revenge. 

It is very difficult to form a satisfactory idea of 
the character of Rousseau ; for, though an intense 
and unmitigated selfishness was the chief element in 
it, he was at times capable of some display of gen- 
erosity, where it would sound to his own advantage. 
For example, he subscribed to the statue of Voltaire, 
greatly to the discomposure of him to whom the 
compliment was paid ; and when the old poet, in his 
last visit to Paris, took with him a tragedy for the 
stage, which it was anticipated, naturally enough, 
would prove a failure, Rousseau declared that it 
would be mhuman and ungrateful in the pubhc not 
to treat it with respect, whatever its merits might 
prove to be. The impression given by his life is, 
that he was unsound of mind ; and yet the disease 
was probably nothmg more than that voluntary mo- 



216 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 

nomania which any one may bring on by making 
self the chief consideration and moving principle of 
all his actions, looking at all things only in a selfish 
light, and suffering his own shadow to darken every 
thing on which it is cast. Every feeling, however 
base, Avas innocent and holy, if he thought proper to 
indulge it ; any action, however guilty it might have 
been in another, was excusable, and even meritori- 
ous, in him. That common self-delusion by which 
a man regards himself as a pecuhar person, out of 
the pale of the common law of feeling, amounted in 
him to an absolution more complete than false reli- 
gion ever gave ; and his conscience, if he ever had 
one, the only proof of which was his share in our 
common humanity, was completely overawed by his 
towering and stupendous self-applause. This, by a 
not unusual retribution, became the source of his 
distress : he was fully persuaded, that the world had 
nothing to think of, and nothing to do, but to look 
after him and his motions. If there was anywhere 
a whisper, a smile, an obscure allusion, or a meaning 
word, he was sure that it was aimed at him. Thus 
he brooded over acts of kindness, as well as over 
things uidifferent, till they seemed deadly injuries, 
and called up hatred and revenge. But, strange as 
this disposition may seem, it will not do to call it 
insanity. Half the world have these feelings at times ; 
they might easily make them permanent by deter- 
mined indulgence ; and any low-spkited person who 
abandons his mind to them might become as jealous, 
as fantastic, as wayward, — in one word, as much 
of a madman, — as Rousseau. 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. t. 217 

It is inconceivable how any one can study his 
works with deep interest after reading his " Confes- 
sions," in which, by the way, he resembles certain 
persons mentioned by Chesterfield, " who, with a 
modest contrition, confess themselves guilty of most 
of the cardinal virtues." He says, that in early life 
he had a habit of lying on all occasions ; and his 
later days, though he asserts the contrary, did not 
vary altogether in this respect from the former. He 
makes himself fourteen or fifteen years old Avhen he 
lived as footman in the service of the Countess de 
Vercelles, from whom he stole a riband, and, being 
charged with it, to remove suspicion from himself, 
accused Marian, a fellow-servant, who had shown 
much friendship for him, and thus, through his own 
cowardly selfishness, destroyed the reputation of the 
poor girl, without the least regard to her tears and 
appeals to his conscience and manly feeling. He 
says, that he afterwards felt remorse, when he thought 
of Marian's ruin and distress ; but that his attach- 
ment for her was the cause of it, for he had stolen it 
to give to her, and this Avas what made him think of 
charging her with stealing it to give to him. Lord 
• Brougham shows that he was probably eighteen, 
certainly not less than seventeen, years of age when 
he was guilty of this heartless deed. His character 
was then formed, if ever ; and we imagine it would 
be difficult to find in any cabinet of human remains 
a harder specimen of moral petrifaction. Through- 
out his " Confessions," he is candid to excess in 
admitting the sins of other people, and in the same 
manner endeavors to throw a refined and false coi- 

19 



218 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 

oring over his own. The best friend he ever had 
was Madame de Warens, a generous, accomphshed, 
and attractive woman, though not one of the vestal 
virgins ; who was so disinterested and faithful, that 
her strange philanthropy should never have been 
exposed by him. She endeavored to procure him 
orders in the Church, but, not succeeding, found 
him a place with Le Maitre, the director of the 
cathedral music, who treated him for a year with 
the utmost kmdness, till he lost his own office in 
consequence of some differences with the chapter. 
Rousseau then accompanied him to Lyons, where 
he fell down in an epilectic fit one day in the street ; 
and his grateful pupil took the occasion to slip away, 
feeling no occasion to remain with one who could 
serve him no longer. Add to this, his sending five of 
his own children to the foundling hospital, in spite 
of the tears of their mother, Avho, though a coarse 
creature, was not dead to nature, — and we have an 
exhibition of selfishness as complete, and with as 
slight a sprinlding of humanity, as can be found or 
dreamed of among the sons of men. 

There is a belief in those who know but little of 
his life, that he was capable of generous actions. 
It may have been so ; but, whatever they were, his 
own hand, which made the best of every thing, has 
not found it convenient to record them. Of generous 
expressions, which cost nothing, he was more liberal; 
and he was perfectly prodigal of those fine senti- 
ments which have no particular relation to place or 
person, and have not so much of pledge or promise 
in them that he who employs them is ever expected 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 219 

to make them good. He must be an eminent saint 
in the estimation of those moralists who maintain that 
one's instincts are always to be followed ; for self 
was his oracle and law, and there is no instance of a 
departure from that moral standard on any occasion, 
if we may except his self-denial in not seeing Ma- 
dame de Warens in her poverty and sorrow. She 
had always treated him with the most affectionate 
kindness, supporting him like a mother for many years 
of his life^ and sharing all her resources with him 
while she had any to bestow ; and when, through her 
lavish expenditure and imprudence, she was reduced 
to the extremity of Avant, he did not, though he was 
within a day's journey of where she was, either visit 
her or write to her, — " because," as he says, " he 
feared to sadden her heart with the story of his dis- 
asters." At this, the spirit of the Chancellor, who 
has maintained unwonted coolness, waxes wrathful 
within him ; " As if she had not real disasters of her 
own, — as if the straw on which she was perishing 
of want offered not wherewithal to touch her more 
nearly than the tale of his fancied wrongs and trum- 
pery persecutions." Lord Brougham thinks, that at 
one time he was certainly insane : if so, the madness 
was of his own making. There is, however, no more 
evidence of it at one period than another ; and, as we 
have said, any jealous man, absolving himself, as 
Rousseau did, from all moral restraint, and all con- 
cern for the opinion of others, m.ight soon become as 
wild and extravagant, if not as heartless, as he. 

This testimony should be borne whenever his name 
is mentioned; because, though his "New Heloise," 



220 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I, 

with all its occasional eloquence in the expression of 
feeling, is too coarse and low to find many who will 
plead guilty to enjoying it at the present day, the 
sentimentality which it created and fed still exists, 
and exerts a fatal influence on many persons, teach- 
ing them to take credit for tenderness when their 
hearts are hard as the nether millstone, and blinding 
Ihem to the guilt and grossness of every imaginable 
sin. Many thus parade through life in a fancy dress, 
thinking themselves the great sublime they draw. 
They use this sentimentalism like a gauze handker- 
chief tied over their eyes, ^vhich hides from them only 
what they do not choose to see, and affords an excuse, 
^ such as has served Rousseau through two genera- 
tions, for the unworthy paths in which they go. On 
the mountain or the deep, they feel a transient emo- 
tion of sublimity ; and this, without the shadow of 
sacrifice or self-denial, is their religion ; and very 
exalted do they seem to themselves over those who, 
with a vulgar sense of duty, labor on in the dusty 
paths on the plain. In matters of benevolence, they 
are ready to feel for that elegant and interesting dis- 
tress of which real life affords so little, though in 
works of fiction it so much abounds. Since there is 
no demand in the market of life for such humanity 
as theirs, they take it out in feeling ; not discovering 
the unsoundness of the emotion, because it is never 
brought to the test. Meantime they go on, flourish- 
ing white handkerchiefs, and shedding sentimental 
tears, which, as is fully evident to all but themselves, 
are no more indications of tenderness than the drops 
which at nightfall steal down the sides of the shaded 
rock. 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 221 

The influence of Rousseau upon literary taste and 
tendencies has been exceedingly great. The success 
with which he passed, coarse and selfish as he was, 
for a man of deep and tender feeling, appears to have 
been the signal for a procession of writers to with- 
draw the public attention from their own transgres- 
sions, by crying out against the oppression of social 
laws, and lamenting the baseness of mankind. We 
have received letters from inmates of our penitentia- 
ries, in which, after slightly admitting that they might 
have been imprudent, they spoke with indignation of 
the unequal hardship of the law, and the cold malig- 
nity of all other men. There is something in this 
tone so consoling, and even elevating, to him who 
employs it, that we are not to wonder at the taste 
spreading into literature, — a republic which, like 
Texas, owes some part of its population to those 
who have no reason to love the law. Lord Byron 
carried on this masquerade with distinguished suc- 
cess, sustaining the character of a much injured man 
so ably as almost to deceive himself, and entirely to 
bewilder the sentimental portion of the world. Others, 
far inferior to him, have also enacted the part of a 
lion of the day by means of this drapery, though the 
points of the inferior animal appeared conspicuously 
through. Under convoy of male and female scrib- 
blers of novels, we see murderers, thieves, and ladies 
of light life and conversation, present themselves with 
easy confidence ; assuring us that it is not they, but 
human laws and moral, sentiments, which are an- 
swerable for the errors of their lives, — if errors they 
be ; maintaining that their garments are more beau- 

19* 



222 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 

tiful for the stains, and looking on the virtuous as 
vagrant animals do on those in the pound, with pity- 
approaching to disdain. It should be said, however, 
that Rousseau was a better man than his followers : 
he never appears to have found himself out : but in 
them it is evidently matter of shameless calculation 
to secure gain or notoriety by defying the laws of 
virtue ; and they make this exhibition of themselves 
with a consciousness of exposure, and without think- 
ing it necessary to put on the least fig-leaf of self- 
delusion. 

It is true, with respect both to Voltaire and Rous- 
seau, that they were dyspeptics ; and they may fairly 
claim all the immunities and exemptions which dis- 
eased livers entitle them to demand. But if this plea 
be generally admitted, like that of insanity in the 
case of murder, it would be difficult to say who shall 
be " whipt of justice," or how it would be possible to 
enforce a sentence of condemnation for any sin. For 
we apprehend, that there are few of our readers who 
have not said with a sigh, " O dura messorum ilia ! " 
or who can think of those birds which digest nails 
and broken glass with unruffled serenity, without feel- 
ings akin to admiration and despair. No doubt, the 
martyrs of indigestion suffer ; and their irritability 
and vengeance, hke charity, begin at home : having 
their origin there, they go forth to bless mankind. 
How far it is possible to suppress them, to what 
extent they are excusable, and whether they shall 
be set down among vices or infirmities, it is not ours 
to say ; but, if morality is to resolve itself into a form 
of medical jurisprudence, and no man can be cen- 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 223 

sured till the doctor has felt his pulse and examined 
the state of his system, others as well as literary sin- 
ners should have the benefit of it, and the same zeal 
which is now manifested to do away with capital 
punishment should extend itself to all penalties of 
every kind and degree. 

The next person who appears in the Chancellor's 
gallery was distinguished, if any thing so common 
can be regarded as a distinction, by a quarrel with 
Rousseau. There may be a doubt, however, whether . 
that could be called a quarrel Avhich was conducted 
by one party without the least assistance from the 
other. A quarrel seldom travels far upon one leg; 
and a feud with one so easy and kind-hearted as 
Hume must needs have proceeded in that inconve- 
nient method, if it went on at all. How such a 
quarrel could arise appears from the history of the 
persecution suffered in Neufchatel by the " self-tortur- 
ing sophist," Avho declared that a quarry of stones 
was thrown into his house at night, endangering his 
life and fiUing his household with alarm ; while it 
was stated by one of his friends, that the instrument 
of this revenge, found upon the floor the next day, 
was one solitary flint, and this discovery appears 
to have been marked by the singular, though not 
wholly unaccountable, circumstance that the stone 
itself was larger than the hole in the glass which it 
came through. Hume suffered much from his gener- 
osity to this " interesting solitary," as he was called 
by his friends, who seem to have urged the historian 
to invite him to England, simply in order to keep 
him out of France. When he arrived, Hume found 



224 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 

him a delightful place of retreat, and also procured 
him a pension. But, a letter having been written by 
that mischief-making animal, Horace Walpole, pur- 
porting to be addressed by Frederic to Rousseau, 
pressing him to come to Berlin, and promising every 
blessing except those persecutions in which he so 
much delighted, the sophist, after mature delibera- 
tion, thought proper to ascribe this trick to a con- 
spiracy on the part of Hume, and resented it with 
the utmost fury, even going so far as to throw up his 
pension, — an act of resignation, however, Avhich he 
recalled with great expedition. 

It is as an unbeliever in the Christian religion that 
Hume is generally remembered by those who hear 
his name ; not only as a sceptic himself, but as the 
author of those doubts and suggestions, which, re- 
produced in various forms, still operate to prevent 
Christianity from finding admission into many minds. 
But the truth is, that religion, wherever it is found, 
has generally entered by the avenues of the heart ; 
and a man of easy good-nature, prosperous in his 
circumstances, exempt from humiliating and sorrow- 
ful changes, honored by the great and esteemed by 
all around him, free from those relations and respon- 
sibilities in life from which our greatest distresses 
as well as blessings come, Avas not so likely as others, 
of different constitution and differently situated, to 
feel those wants of the soul which that religion is 
intended to supply. Never fiercely assailed by temp- 
tations, he was not compelled to resort to it for 
strength to resist them ; having no tendency to pas- 
sion or revenge, he felt no need of its restraining 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 225 

power ; enjoying every moment of the present life 
as he did, his thoughts were seldom carried forward 
to another existence ; and, as men seldom resort to 
it till they feel their need of its supports and consola- 
tions, it is easy to see why it was that the subject 
was never brought home to his heart. 

We can find in his temperament, then, the reason 
why he was so indifferent to Christianity, and so 
careless whether he undermined its foundations in 
men's minds. For he was not a scoffer ; though 
there Avas an occasional tone of bitterness, he never 
descended into buffoonery like that of Voltaire ; but 
he evidently did not feel how much men need Chris- 
tianity, what a blessing it is, and what a disastrous 
change the loss of its influence would be. He treats 
it as a subject of metaphysical discussion merely; 
nor could he understand the mighty argument for its 
truth which is found in its universal adaptation to 
the Avants and sorrows of mankind. His doctrines 
are thus carried out, as if nothing important was 
involved, and as if it was simply a gratification of 
curiosity to see how far they might be made to go. 
Having shown that miracles are not likely to take 
place, and that the error or falsehood of witnesses is 
more common than a departure from the usual order 
of things, he proceeds to infer that there can be no 
such thing as a miracle ; which amounts to the asser- 
tion, that there is no such thing as Divine Providence, 
that the power which established is not competent to 
alter, and, in fact, excludes the Deity from all direct 
concern with the universe which he has made ; — 
consequences of his argument, which, of themselves, 



226 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 

would be enough to show that it could not possibly 
be true, since they represent the creature as mightier 
than its Creator, and speak of a God whose hands 
are bound. Lord Brougham remarks, that, had 
Hume lived to see the late discoveries in fossil oste- 
ology, which make it clear that there was at some 
period an exertion of power to form man and other 
animals not previously existing, he must either have 
rejected the science, which would be absurd, or have 
admitted the interposition of creative power. But 
this is equally true of the Avhole universe : it must 
either be self-existent, or the time must have been 
when some power was exerted to bring it into being. 
Whoever, therefore, is nehher atheist nor pantheist, 
if he admits that the usual order of things has once 
been, suspended, cannot maintain that there is no 
power to depart from it again. 

But, without entering into the discussion on the 
subject of miracles, which has already, at various 
times and in divers manners, been more than suffi- 
ciently extended, — considering that the evidence in 
their favor has convinced clear-headed men without 
number, while the doubters have been comparatively 
few, — we would simply remark, that most of those 
who take the sceptical side of this subject, while 
they think that they get rid of miracles, leave un- 
touched the great miracle of all ; and that is, Chris- 
tianity itself : whence did it come ? In tracing the 
history of other opinions and reforms, we can follow 
them like rivers to the earthly fountains from which 
they spring ; we can see the imperfect attempts 
which went before them, the influences and ten- 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 227 

dencies which led to them ; then* unformed elements 
may be distinguished long before their living action 
manifests itself to the world. But here was a reli- 
gion suddenly breaking out from the midst of dark- 
ness, breathing peace in a wild and martial time, 
teaching the largest charity and freedom from preju- 
dice among a most narrow and bigoted people, 
resisting the habits of thought and feeling which had 
always prevailed, and itself giving the first impulse 
towards that improvement in which it would lead the 
nations on from glory to glory. It is idle to speak 
of it as an effort of genius or a happy discovery ; 
for these are results of efforts and progress previously 
made, and no such elements can be found in the 
ancient world. Now, as nothing can come of nothing, 
and to every thing must be assigned a cause ade- 
quate to produce it, we do not know where to look 
for any explanation of the existence of this religion 
but that which regards it as a direct gift of God. 
The sceptic, then, if he discredits the miracles, by 
showing to his own satisfaction that they could never 
have been wrought, cannot deny that Christianity 
exists and prevails, and thus leaves himself em- 
barrassed with a difficulty greater than that which he 
explains away. 

The character of Hume has often been impeached 
in general terms, in consequence of his opinions ; 
Christians having always taken the liberty, in defend- 
ing their religion, to break all its laws of love. 
Archbishop Magee, for example, speaks of his wri- 
tings as " standing memorials of a heart as wicked, 
and a head as weak, as ever pretended to the char- 



228 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 

acter of a philosopher and morahst ; " — a remark 
which, lacking the essential grace of truth, is of the 
number of those which bless him who takes consid- 
erably more than him who gives, and which rather 
enlighten us as to the good sense and manners of 
him who uses them than of those to whom they are 
applied. But Lord Brougham has inserted a letter 
into the appendix to this Life, which gives a more un- 
pleasant impression of Hume than we have received 
from any other quarter. It contains the expression 
of a wish, that some clerical friend should remain in 
his profession, which he desired to abandon ; for, 
says the author of the " Inquiry concerning the Prin- 
ciples of Morals," — 

" It is putting too great respect on tlie vulgar and on their 
superstitions to pique one's self on sincerity with regard to them. 
Did ever one make it a point of honor to speak truth to children 
or madmen ? If the thing were worthy being treated gravely, I 
should tell him that the Pythian oracle, with the approbation of 
Xenophon, advised every one to worship the gods ' according to 
the law of the city.' I wish it were still in my power to be a hypo- 
crite in this particular ; the common duties of society usixally 
require it ; and the ecclesiastical profession only adds a little more 
to an innocent dissimulation, or rather simulation, without which 
it is impossible to pass through the world." 

Such loose talk as this, the recommendation to a 
friend to be a hypocrite, the wish to be one himself, 
and the suggestion that duty may sometimes require 
it, argues an extraordinary indifference on these sub- 
jects, which are commonly regarded as important, 
whatever may be men's opinions in other respects. 
Lord Brougham does great injustice to Paley in 
connecting his doctrine of expediency with any such 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 229 

application of it as this. It is not easy to conceive 
of a man of any moral principle speaking in this 
manner while in possession of his reason ; and it is 
not doing injustice to one who does, to regard it as 
a sign of certain deficiencies of moral constitution, 
which would prevent his mind from apprehending 
the worth and beauty of Christianity, and, to the 
same extent, forbid its welcome in the heart. 

There is another respect in which the great his- 
torian is little beholden to his noble biographer. 
The impression has been, that Hume wrote with 
great rapidity : the harmonious and beautiful order 
of his narrative, and the free and manly grace of 
expression, indicate that it came from his pen with a 
swift and easy flow. This circumstance has been 
regarded as an explanation of many of his errors ; 
for, admirable as his work is, and delightful to 
readers as it will ever be, it is wholly discredited as 
an authority ; no one places the least reliance upon 
it ; we resort to it for gratification, while we go 
to inferior writers to know the truth. But Lord 
Brougham gives the impression, that the act of com- 
position to Hume was laborious and painful ; his 
manuscripts still in existence are everywhere scored, 
interhned, and altered : indeed, he says himself, that 
he was slow, and not easily satisfied Avith what he 
wrote ; a fact which deprives him of the apology, 
such as it is, which the extemporaneous manner of 
writing ascribed to him afforded for many of his 
errors. The Chancellor also declares, that, on some 
occasions, he sacrificed truth to effect, introducing 
striking circumstances without foundation, and alter- 
20 



230 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 

ing statements from what he knew to be the correct 
version ; and, though these variations from the truth 
of history, so far as noticed, are not of any great 
importance, they are still sufficient to show, that his 
conscience was not strictly delicate, and that, accord- 
ing to the suggestion made to his clerical friend, he 
considered readers of history as among those incon- 
siderable persons to whom the truth needs not be 
told ; either because he thought the article too rare 
and precious to be wasted, or that the invention of 
historical facts seemed a nobler and more inviting 
office than simply to record them. 

This distinguished man is generally spoken of as 
a sceptic ; but Lord Brougham shows that his views 
come as near to atheism as it is possible for a man 
not of unholy life to go. Hume contends, not that 
there are doubts on the subject of God's existence 
and the immortality of the soul, but that we have no 
evidence of either, and therefore no ground for be- 
lieving in God and immortality. And thus, with 
respect to miracles, his argument maintains that they 
cannot be proved ; that a divine interposition is a 
thing impossible ; and of this there is a certainty 
which no amount of testimony can outweigh. It 
therefore leads, not to doubt, but to a conviction of 
the falsehood of the religion Avhich professes to come 
from on high. Perhaps the reason why he has thus 
been regarded, as one whose mind was balanced 
between the two opinions, is, that he never, like 
Voltaire, entered into a blind and furious warfare 
against Christianity. His reasonings against it are 
grave and decent, seldom defiled by unworthy Ian- 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 231 

guage or feeling. So unlike is this to the bearing of 
most other infidels, that it gives the impression of un- 
decidedness and neutrality ; when, perhaps, there 
never was any one to whom the religion could have 
been presented with so little hope of success ; since 
his regular life, his steady temper, and prosperous 
circumstances, had prevented his feehng the need of 
it as most men do ; and, when the intellect, which 
in him Avas infinitely stronger than the affections, 
reported against it, no voice in its favor was lifted 
up by his heart. Even if his views on the subject of 
our faith had been at first mere speculations, as soon 
as he published his arguments against it, he came 
into sympathy with its opposers. Indifference was 
no longer possible ; and it was as an antagonist of 
Christianity, if not of all religion, that he lived and 
died. 

A statement was thrown out in the " Quarterly 
Review " many years ago, and we well remember 
the sensation it created, Avhich represented the papers 
left by Hume as containing evidence that distin- 
guished ministers of the gospel in Edinburgh were 
in full sympathy with him ; practising on his sug- 
gestion with respect to deceiving the public, and 
having no more real faith than he had in the religion 
which they professed to preach. This incredible 
assertion, which doubtless proceeded from some 
narrow-minded bigot, who regarded false witness 
against another sect as a virtue, and charity as a 
mortal sin, Avas not corrected at the time ; but Lord 
Brougham informs us, that he has caused the most 
exact search to be made, and, finding no confirma- 



232 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 

tion of the story, he gives it an unquahfied contra- 
diction.* 

One of the clergymen alluded to was Dr. Robert- 
son, who comes next in succession in this biography, 
and whose hfe is written with a satisfaction increased, 
doubtless, by the circumstance that he was connected 
with the noble lord, whose grandmother was a sister 
of the historian ; not that more than justice is done 
to his moral character, but his talents and literary 
standing are rated somewhat too high. Dr. Robert- 
son was a Christian in character, and therefore a 
gentleman in his manners ; he did not think himself 
bound to treat an unbeliever, who never insulted his 
faith, as a profane and graceless enemy of man. 
Though he was firm, or perhaps we should say 
because he was firm, in his own conviction, he could 
look upon one whose opinions were different, without 
the least feeling of hatred and revenge ; in which 
respect he had the advantage of some over-zealous 
Christians, both in the peace and happiness of his 

* Notwithstanding this denial, and in full view of the evidence on which it 
iis made, the charge is repeated in the last number of the " Quarterly Review," 
apparently by the same writer who first brought it forward. He says. Lord 
Brougham " produces no evidence, except as to the actual contents of the Hume 
papers. They came but lately into the hands of their present possessors ; and 
we think it might have occurred to Lord Brougham as not altogether impossible 
(considering the late Mr. Baron Hume's refusal to let any use be made of them 
during his own lifetime), that the learned judge purified the collection before he 
bequeathed it to the Royal Society of Edinburgh." The reviewer also cites the 
]iassage, which we have already quoted, from Hume's letter to Col. Edmon- 
stone, advising a clerical friend not to abandon his profession because he had 
become a sceptic, as afTording " an inference in tolerable harmony with the 
rumor so magisterially dismissed." Our readers will observe, however, that 
this grave charge, first made upon the authority of mere rumor, is here repeated 
as a matter of inference only ; and though the reviewer, it appears, has " had 
access to some of Hume's unpublished letters," it does not appear that he found 
in them any direct evidence of the truth of the accusation. 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 233 

own temper, and in the influence he exerted to bring 
unbeheving Avanderers home. The calumny here 
alluded to was doubtless owing to this liberality on 
his part, misinterpreted by those who consider no 
one who is not ready to put an infidel to death as 
entitled to the name of Christian. 

Lord Brougham, having a nearer interest in the 
subject of this biography than in most others, is 
naturally disposed to give him all his due. There 
is such an evenness of merit, such a graceful and 
sustained propriety, and so much freedom from strik- 
ing faults, in Robertson's historical writings, that his 
works, which travelled up at once to the highest 
popularity, have ever since kept their place in the 
general esteem. It is curious to contrast his enthu- 
siastic reception with the cold reception given at first 
to the great work of Hume. Of the first volume of 
the " History of England," containing the reigns 
of James the First and Charles the First, only five 
and forty copies were sold in London the year 
after it came from the press, though it treated of a 
period of history most exciting in its interest, and, 
the writer's careless inquiry into facts not having 
then been discovered, was fitted, one would suppose, 
by its animated grace of manner and living charm 
of language, to eclipse all other writings of the kind 
in the public eye. It gives a pleasing impression of 
Hume's disposition, that, conscious as he must have 
been of his own superiority, he could bear thus to be 
cast into the shade. He wrote a letter of humorous 
reproach to Robertson, complaining, that, when he 
was sitting in glory at the feet of Smollett (of whose 
20* 



23,4 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 

history he had the meanest opinion), the author of 
the " History of Scotland " should have pressed 
himself above him, and come nearer to their great 
master than he. But Robertson, if inferior to his 
friend in sagacity and comprehension, was entitled 
to success by his laborious accuracy. So far as his 
means of information w^ent, he was conscientiously 
faithful. He was employed at least six years in his 
first work, while Hume despatched his history of the 
Stuarts in less than three ; though the amount of 
materials to be consulted, the conflict of authorities, 
and the obstacles in the way of accuracy, were, in 
this latter case, a thousand to one, compared with 
the other. 

While Lord Brougham somewhat overestimates 
the excellence of Robertson's writings, he is not blind 
to his defects. It is refreshing to learn that he finds 
fault with him in one respect ; and that is, for the 
deference which he pays to what the world, much to 
its own loss and injury, is pleased to call greatness, 
and the indemnity which he is willing to concede to 
heroes, tyrants, and similar nuisances of mankind. 
Historians appear, by common consent, to have taken 
might for right ; and courage, frankness, wisdom, or 
decision of character, has been sufficient, at their tri- 
bunal, to save the offender from the condemnation of 
every sin. It is disgusting in the extreme to hear the 
butcher of his wives, the most brutal of sovereigns, 
treated with hearty and sympathizing regard, as jolly 
old King Harry ; and when the Chancellor comes on 
Robertson and Hume with his long and sweeping 
scourge, for their courtier-like homage to the mem- 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 235 

ory of Elizabeth, we feel that the infliction is richly 
deserved. Not that we consider him particularly dis- 
criminating on these occasions. He seems to take it 
for granted with respect to Mary Stuart, that her mar- 
riage with Bothwell was sufficient proof of all that 
was alleged against her ; when those who examine 
the subject will see, as we have set forth in a for- 
mer number,*' that she could not possibly have been 
accessory to the murder of her husband ; in a word, 
that she was never stained with blood, whatever her 
subsequent weakness may have been. Not so with 
Elizabeth : it is beyond question, that, thinking the 
slow poison of imprisonment was not enough, she 
attempted to prevail on Drury and Paulet to murder 
the unhappy queen ; and, not succeeding in this, she 
resorted to the meanest falsehood and imposture to 
accomplish that infernal deed. Well says the Chan- 
cellor, " History, fertile in royal crimes, offers to our 
execration few such characters as this great, success- 
ful, and popular princess. An assassin in her heart, 
nay, in her counsels and orders ; an oppressor of the 
most unrelenting cruelty in her whole conduct ; a 
hypocritical dissembler, to whom falsehood was hab- 
itual, honest frankness strange, — such is the light in 
which she ought ever to be held up, as long as truth 
and humanity shall bear any value in the eyes of 
men." If there were any substance to the fiction, 
that the Chancellor has the conscience of the sove- 
reign in his keeping, and if a human being in office 
could feel as he does when out of it, we could wish 
that his lordship was still presiding in the Court of 

* North American Review, vol. xxsiv. p. 144. 



236 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 

Chancery, not of England only, but of the literary 
world. 

In speaking of the " History of America," which 
followed that of Scotland, Lord Brougham sails 
away in a flight of enthusiasm which was hardly to 
be expected from such a veteran ; not that he prefers 
it as a whole to the other histories ; but he thinks that 
there are passages and descriptions in it which neither 
its author nor any other historian ever exceeded ; and 
he evidently has no kind feeling towards Irving for 
attempting the portrait of Columbus, Avhich Robert- 
son had drawn before him. The Chancellor makes 
a contrast between the passages in which the two 
Avriters describe the first discovery of land by the 
great navigator, greatly to the disparagement of 
the American, whose account he considers ambitious 
and straining after effect, and therefore far less 
impressive than the noble simplicity of the other. 
Robertson's description of that memorable scene is 
certainly good, — better even than Southey's slight 
attempt in " Madoc " to bring before the reader that 
moment which opened a new history to the world. 
But Lord Brougham, whose temperament does not 
always incline to laudation, has gone somewhat 
beyond himself in this eulogy, treating the absence of 
faults as a striking beauty, and imagining graces more 
than are really there. He says that he once called 
the attention of Lord Wellesley to this passage ; and 
that nobleman afterwards assured him, that he shed 
tears while he read it, and it had broken his rest at 
night. Perhaps it may be the hardness brought over 
our hearts by the constant practice of reviewing, but 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 237 

we must plead guilty to reading it with dry eyes ; 
nor are we often moved to tears by simple and judi- 
cious writing; while, on the contrary, we almost 
weep aloud over the vicious affectation and vulgar 
elegance which Bulwer and his company have im- 
posed upon the world as refined and intellectual writ- 
ing. We enjoy a compensation for this obtuseness, 
however, in the fact, that we are not kept awake by 
the better parts of the books which our public capa- 
city requires us to read ; and when we sit down to 
the greater proportion of them, particularly the pop- 
ular novels of the day, it brings over us a spirit of 
repose, a dreamless and heavy slumber, in which we 
forget the toil and warfare of our vocation, and sub- 
side into peace and charity with all mankind. 

While we are not much inclined to disagree with 
Lord Brougham in his critical decisions, we greatly 
honor the spirit in which he speaks of the manner in 
which all history has been written. Historians who 
know better, and who ought to guide the moral sen- 
timents of their readers, have fallen into the common 
train of feeling, regarding all peaceful scenes and 
virtues with comparative indifference, and exalting 
ability and guilt into most unmerited glory. He 
sharply censures, too, as well he may, the irregular 
and inconsistent manner in which they dispense their 
condemnation and applause ; exalting to the skies 
the bloody ambition of the Plantagenets and the 
crooked policy of the Tudors, while Richard the 
Third, a man of greater courage and capacity, and 
about as amiable, is the target for every broadside of 
indignation, which, for the sake of appearances, they 



238 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 

think it necessary sometimes to throw in. There is, 
however, one objection to severe moral judgment, 
which did not occur to the Chancellor's legal mind. 
When an English admiral once remonstrated with 
the Dey of Algiers respecting the lawless conduct of 
his soldiers, that sovereign admitted that the com- 
plaint was well founded, and said that he had ear- 
nestly endeavored to make a reform, having, with 
that view, hanged as many as fifty in a day ; but he 
had found, though he evidently saw no other objec- 
tion to the process, that he could not very well spare 
the men. Similar considerations may have induced 
historians to be merciful to the wholesale robbers and 
murderers of the human race ; for so general has 
been the tendency to such practices, and so few are 
there among those distinguished in history who have 
not something of the kind to answer for, that strict- 
ness to mark and censure such iniquity would turn 
history into a sort of Old Bailey chronicle ; writers 
Avho now exult in their pride of place Avould become 
literary hangmen under the moral law ; and the men 
usually most admired and honored in the annals of 
their country must necessarily be their victims. He 
says, that he himself once undertook the reigns of 
Alfred, Henry the Fifth, and Elizabeth, with a view 
to the right application of moral principles to history, 
and was prevented from completing the task only 
by his growing public and professional labors. We 
regret that he did not persevere : in his hands, Alfred 
would have been duly honored for his intellectual 
energy and civil wisdom ; France would have found 
a late atonement for her wrongs in the chastisement 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 239 

inflicted on the martial shade of Henry ; while dire 
and unchivalrous would have been his lashes on the 
shoulders of Queen Bess, " a model of falsehood 
in all its more hateful and despicable forms, who had 
all the guilt of murder on her head, and was only 
only saved from its actual perpetration by having a 
Paulet for her agent instead of a Tyrrel." It is much 
to be desired that some arm of power would bring 
about this revolution, vast and sweeping though it 
would be ; dashing down the statues which now sit 
on thrones in human estimation and public annals ; 
and calling from weakness into power, and from dis- 
honor into glory, many who, in their own and suc- 
ceeding times, have seldom been honored with the 
applause which they well deserve. 

Dr. Robertson's life was marked in every part by 
a dignified moderation, Avhich does not give a very 
animated interest to his biography, but implies more 
character, and requires more energy to sustain, than 
is generally supposed. It is easy to give way to 
feeling, to let the passions loose, and to throw one's 
self headlong into the rushing tide of party. And 
this is what passes for force of character with man- 
kind, who are apt to mistake the noise and smoke of 
the engines for the great moving power. But, while 
sudden effects and transient impressions are pro- 
duced by men of impulse, who spend their strength 
in irregular and violent exertions, the best services in 
the cause of humanity, and by far the most enduring 
results, may be traced in the world's history to men 
of moderation, of Avhom Washington was an exam- 
ple. They are not rightly estimated by those about 



240 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 

them, and succeeding times are slow to acknowledge 
them as great. Flarmg candles on the earth out- 
shine the brightest stars in heaven for a season ; but 
the former are soon burnt out, while the planets are 
shinmg on for ever. We should not assign Dr. 
Robertson a place among the highest of this class, 
by any means : but he, like the rest, has been under- 
estimated by those who confound moderation with 
mediocrity ; who believe, that, in the warfare of life, 
all depends, not on strength, but shouting ; and ex- 
pect to overthrow the strongholds of vice and oppres- 
sion like Jericho, not by siege and battery, but by 
sounding their ram's horns under the walls. 

The next portrait in the Chancellor's gallery brings 
us out of the region of historians into that of philo- 
sophers. The first presented is Black, the great 
chemical discoverer, whose name has been sur- 
rounded with a sort of obscurity much in contrast 
with his distinguished claims, and rather strange, 
considering how deeply science is indebted to him 
for some of its greatest advances. It is explained 
by the fact, that he was modest and unpretending, 
content to be great, and not solicitous that men 
should acknowledge his worth ; manifesting thereby 
that confidence which is so much more common in 
scientific than in literary men, that the world would 
do him justice at last, hoAvever his merits might for 
a time be misunderstood. When he was young, he 
printed a Latin thesis, containing the intimation of 
some of his discoveries. One of the copies was pre- 
sented by his father, then in Bordeaux, to Montes- 
quieu, who said to him, " I rejoice Avith you, my 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 241 

good friend : your son will be the honor of your 
name and family ; " — a prediction which, whether 
inspired by French politeness or a true discernment, 
was afterwards well fulfilled. There is something 
very interesting in Lord Brougham's description of 
the man, of his graceful manner in lecturing, the 
easy confidence with which he made his experiments, 
the unlabored elegance of his extemporaneous speak- 
ing, and the philosophical views and suggestions 
with Avhich he chained the attention of his hearers. 
His lordship says, that " the commanding periods 
of Pitt's majestic oratory," " the vehemence of Fox's 
burning declamation," " the close compacted chain 
of Grant's pure reasoning," " the mingled fancy, 
epigram, and argumentation of Plunket," have given 
him less delight than he felt in attending those lec- 
tures, Avhen "the first philosopher of the age" was 
giving forth his own discoveries, recounting the 
successive steps by which he had reached them, 
and pointing out the difficulties triumphantly over- 
come. 

There are generally many who are walking to- 
gether in the paths of science, nearly abreast of each 
other ; and, as they have each mastered the succes- 
sive steps which lead up to a great discovery, it is 
not easy always to say to whom the honor of making 
it rightfully belongs. There are also individuals who 
are fully capable of estimating what others have 
done, and not too scrupulously self-denying to ap- 
propriate to themselves a share of it. Nations, too, 
appear to consider claims of this kind to be main- 
tained like points of public honor, with as little 
21 



242 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 

regard as may be to honesty and truth. Lord 
Brougham belabors the memory of Lavoisier, as one 
of those kind-hearted people, who, when he found 
that the parent of a discovery seemed to care but 
little for his offspring, had too tender a heart to see 
it wander as an orphan, and, as a duty of humanity, 
adopted it as his own. Happily, Dr. Black was not 
defrauded in this way as much as many others have 
been ; the great French chemist being a schoolboy 
when he made his discovery of fixed air, to which 
the science owes its great subsequent progress. He 
was not sensitive on the subject of fame. He found 
his enjoyment in the literary society of Edinburgh, 
which was then of a high order ; and, though his 
readiness to communicate his speculations to others, 
and his indifference to his own renown, exposed 
him to this kind of plunder, the traits of character 
which such conduct implies belong to those virtues 
which bring with them a satisfaction that more than 
compensates any loss or sacrifice which they re- 
quire. 

Another great name in this department of science 
is that of Cavendish, who, though connected with the 
Duke of Devonshire, and enjoying a splendid estate, 
had an intellectual taste and energy which carried 
him above the temptations incident to birth and for- 
tune, into that high sphere where only the truly noble 
are found. Perfectly indifferent to luxuries and 
common gratifications, and living in the society of 
his books and philosophical apparatus, he appeared, 
like Black, so much more desirous to be than to 
seem a benefactor to science, that he cared but little 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 243 

for his discoveries when they were once made, and 
had no ambition to pubhsh his triumphs to the world. 
He was obhged to make even greater efforts to keep 
himself in private life than others to push themselves 
before the public eye. His family, aware of his 
talents, were anxious that, as the grandson of a 
duke, he should make himself distinguished in public 
aifairs. Their displeasure had no effect to change 
his purpose ; and an uncle, disapproving the cour,se 
which they pursued towards him, and respecting his 
moral steadiness, left him heir to his own property, 
amounting to a million and a half sterling. Very 
few are the heads which Avould not have been 
turned by such a windfall : he was, like vEsop's trav- 
eller, tried by the storm and sunshine, save that the 
sunbeams of prosperity could not induce him to 
throw off the garment which the tempest of persecu- 
tion had shown itself unable to tear away. This 
clear discernment of his own gifts and powers, this 
determination to follow out his vocation, and this su- 
periority to common enjoyments and honors, would 
be enough to stamp him with the seal of eminence, 
even if he had never succeeded in unfolding some 
of the deep mysteries of nature, and thus in com- 
manding the respect and gratitude of men. 

The name of Priestley, which follows, is great in 
the annals of science, but is better known to the 
world by his theological opinions ; and, though un- 
blessed by many, and defended by comparatively 
few, it has fought its way to the universal acknow- 
ledgment, that he was a man of blameless life, of 
generous afi'ections; and that, whatever may have 



244 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 

been his success in finding the truth, he at least pur- 
sued it in singleness of heart. He was detested as a 
politician by the conservatives of his day, who saw 
in the French Revolution, which gave him so much 
joy, nothing but a curse to the world. He was 
suspected and feared by theologians, as one who 
was desirous to ruin the souls of others, having 
already done that service for his own ; and the ut- 
most reach of their charity could extend only to the 
wish, that he would confine himself to his laboratory, 
instead of turning the world upside down by his 
speculations. They could not see, what is now so 
clear, that " we have no right to doubt his conscien- 
tious motives ; the more especially as his heterodox 
dogmas, always manfully avowed, never brought 
him any thing but vexation and injury in his tem- 
poral concerns." But the general feeling is now 
softened throughout the Christian world. It may 
be doubted whether Priestley would at this day be 
rejected by any church, and thrown into deep dis- 
tress, as he was in his youth, by reason of his in- 
ability to feel contrition for Adam's sin. All now 
required would be penitence for his personal of- 
fences, leaving Adam, like other people, to answer 
for his own. 

There never was a man of disposition more cheer- 
ful, social, and undaunted ; and endless as his con- 
troversies were, — having, like other controversies, 
very little of the beauty of holiness about them, — he 
might congratulate himself, like Hume, that " he had 
no enemy, except perhaps the Whigs and the Tories, 
and all the Christian Avorld." His amiable manners 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 24-5 

disarmed the hostility of all who came near him ; 
and, when he was fiercely contesting the eternity of 
future torments, his adversaries almost wished, for 
his sake, that the doctrine might not be true. Of 
his publications, which amounted to one hundred 
and forty-one in number, only seventeen are on 
scientific matters. Many relate to general subjects ; 
for such was his activity of mind, that he took a 
quick and deep interest in every thing which came 
before him. By far the greater part are theological, 
which accounts, as Lord Brougham says, for his 
now having few readers ; not many holding all his 
peculiar tenets, while, as to some doctrines, he him- 
self composed the whole rank and file of his party. 

The most brilliant and familiar name in the history 
of chemistry is that of Sir Humphrey Davy, whose 
life was as prosperous as that of Priestley was 
troubled ; though it may be doubted whether the 
circumstances of wealth, quiet, and popular admira- 
tion, which he enjoyed, were really beneficial either 
to his happiness or his fame. Lord Brougham, 
though rather reserved in drawing his private char- 
acter, intimates that he was not pleased to be re- 
minded of the obscurity from which he sprang. A 
vain-glorious boast of one's self-elevation is offensive ; 
but, if a great man is really ashamed of his humble 
beginnings, the feeling must arise froin a peculiar 
kind of vanity, implying something unsound in his 
heart. When he first came to London, he was un- 
couth and ungraceful in his bearing ; but he soon 
acquired sufficient courtly self-possession to com- 
mand the applause of his audiences. For a time, 

21* 



246 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 

he seemed intoxicated with this success, as it was 
unfitly called ; but it is not the breath of ladies' fans 
that can fill one's sails for immortality ; and, though 
Davy afterwards lived much in society, he devoted 
himself to that earnest pursuit of science which alone 
could sustain his reputation, and which led to those 
discoveries that are now the glory of his name. It 
is on these discoveries alone that Davy's great repu- 
tation must ultimately depend ; for his published 
works on scientific subjects, though, proceeding from 
such a source, they could not be without value, are 
not by any means equal to his fame. His later 
writings, "Salmonia" and "The Last Days of a 
Philosopher," came from his pen after he had suf- 
fered from an apoplectic seizure, which, however 
slight, is generally felt as the touch of death. He 
submitted to great labor, not to speak of serious 
dangers, in making his experiments ; but the labor 
of writing is of a different kind, much less exciting, 
and requiring not impulse, but still and patient de- 
termination, as we, in our critical capacity, have 
sufficient reason to know. He was fond of society, 
though English in his manners ; that is, shy and 
reserved, covering with a somewhat supercilious 
bearing the conscious want of self-possession. But 
he was also fond to enthusiasm of natural scenery, 
a taste which implies a certain degree of refinement ; 
though Lord Brougham represents him as indifferent 
as the Chancellor himself is to the fine arts, and 
willing to confess that deficiency which others so 
ambitiously conceal. 

Without saying any thing of the life of Simson 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 247 

the mathematician, which closes this first volume, 
we shall only express our satisfaction at seeing these 
portraits executed by so eminent a hand. Even if 
they had no other value, they would make us ac- 
quainted with the opinions of the writer, who is as 
much a subject of interest as any individual whose 
lineaments he has drawn. He shows a familiarity 
with the details of science, of the mathematics par- 
ticularly, which could hardly be expected after the 
busy and tumultuous life which he has led. This 
cannot be a mere remnant of early education : he 
must have given to these pursuits the same sort of 
attention which English statesmen generally devote 
to classical studies and recollections. And the effect 
is seen in his oratory, as reported, where strength 
and energy abound, while grace and elegance are 
wanting. His style is bold and manly, though 
sometimes strangely careless and lounging ; but it is 
always expressive of his mind and heart, and through 
the most labyrinthian sentence it is always easy to 
follow the sentiments and reasoning of the writer. 
These are strong in favor of liberality, truth, and 
freedom ; too strong to be relished always by the 
blind adorers of the past. It is not to be denied, 
that there is here and there some slight want of 
Christian meekness ; but his buffets are generally 
bestowed on those who deserve them. He abounds 
in unfriends, as the Scotch call them ; having carried 
on for years a large and successful manufacture of 
that article, which few desire to possess. But, on 
the whole, we say, Serus in coelum redeat, — if that 
be his destination, which the persons last mentioned 



248 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. I. 

will be inclined to question ; and, whenever he de- 
parts, let it be remembered, that he lifted his heavy 
war-club on the side of liberty and toleration, and 
struck many a crushing blow at the enemies of truth 
and virtue, while soundly belaboring his own. 



249 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE. 

AUT. II. 



Lives of ^len of Letters and Science, who flourished in the Time 
of George the Third. By Henry, Lord Brougham, F.R.S. 
Second Series. Philadelphia: Carey and Hart, 1846; 12mo, 
pp. 302. 

We give a hearty welcome to this new volume from 
such a distinguished hand. It contains another 
series of animated portraits, struck off with free and 
bold execution. The writer, powerful as he is, has 
not, in every respect, the best qualifications for such 
a work ; but the reader is sure of finding independ- 
ent views and valuable information ; and, if there 
should be a measure of prejudice and occasional 
passion, this will only prove that his lordship is not 
exempt from the misleading influences with which 
less gifted minds are afflicted. In the case of men 
of science, having a natural taste for their investiga- 
tions, he has entered with all his heart into those 
studies and discoveries to which they are indebted 
for their fame. With moralists and literary men, he 
is of course less successful and happy. But a mind 
like his, which has been for years in a state of 
intense activity, cannot be turned to any subject 



250 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 



Avilhout throwing light upon it, though it may, per- 
adventure, be accompanied with occasional bursts 
of flame. At any rate, it is a good example for re- 
tired statesmen thus to engage in intellectual labors. 
Would it might be followed by persons of the same 
description in this country, who, after escaping from 
the scuffle of politics in the condition of Canning's 
" needy knife-grinder," with garments rent in twain, 
before the sartor can repair the damage they have 
sustained, are impatient as the war-horse to be in the 
same glorious strife again ! 

It is rather a curious procession which the ex- 
chancellor now calls up from the deep. At its head 
rolls on the stern and melancholy Johnson, appa- 
rently not aware that he is file-leader to the eloquent 
Adam Smith, who was so distasteful to him Avhen 
living, that it would not be strange if he had a sharp 
word to say to him even in the land of souls. They 
are separated by the Frenchman Lavoisier, as a 
barricade, from the spherical form of the sarcastic 
and not very amiable Gibbon. Next comes Sir 
Joseph Banks, Avho, with great forbearance, does 
not swear, — out of fear, perhaps, of him who leads 
the van ; and last, but not least, appears D'Alem- 
bert, one of those sketches which his lordship, who 
is a half-domesticated Frenchman, delights to draw, 
but which do not appear to be received by readers 
in France with unmingled satisfaction, perhaps for 
the reason that they are too severely true. Critics 
of that nation have complained of want of novelty in 
his life of Voltaire ; but they do not say whether they 
expected him to discover new facts in the history of 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 251 

one who spent all his Hfe in the daylight, or whether 
they wished him to exert his inventive genius in giv- 
ing a charm to biographical writing. Others have 
quarrelled with his portrait of Rousseau, as it would 
seem, because he does not represent that mean- 
spirited creature as a great philanthropist and bene- 
factor of mankind. But if any one rejoices in filth, 
and is disposed to make declamation pass for philan- 
thropy, he will find that the eyes of the world are 
wide open ; and splendid shillings, if counterfeit, will 
be left on the hands that receive them. Meantime, 
Lord Brougham has been attacked by English crit- 
ics, one or two of whom he has paid back Avith a 
compliment which will not make them impatient for 
another. In their desire to show off his ignorance 
and errors, they have made an unseemly exposure 
of their own. But on the whole, as his language is 
somewhat lofty, and as no man living has collected 
a richer variety of enemies than he, it is not strange 
if some should take this indirect way to resent those 
wrongs which otherwise they would have no means 
of avenging. 

The greatest fault in this writer's portrait-painting 
proceeds from an occasional waywardness and haste, 
which lead him into views and representations which 
his slower judgment would have disapproved. We 
need not go far for an illustration of the truth of this 
remark : there is the case of Dr. Johnson, to whom 
he seems disposed to render justice, though with the 
same uncertainty with which an eel may be supposed 
to look upon the movements of a whale. There is 
a passage of his history in w^hich he ascribes to him 



252 MEX OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE. ART. II. 

motives and feelings which, when examined, seem 
absurdly untrue. Thus, when the widow of his 
friend Thrale married Piozzi, the doctor, like every- 
body else at the time, considered it an injudicious 
and discreditable connection ; though, with the single 
exception of the word '' ignominious," which he 
apphes to it, there is notliing indicating excitement 
of feeling : and it should be remembered, that this 
word, which sounds so formidable, was but one of 
the ponderous missiles Avhich he was accustomed to 
employ. Lord Brougham professes himself unable 
to see why it was not a very tolerable match, and 
thinks that Johnson's opposition to it must have 
arisen from an attachment to her on his own part. 
Now, if this was so, all the world must have been 
smitten with her charms, for there was a perfect 
unanimity of opinion as to the course which she 
pursued ; and, as Lord Brougham evidently knows 
nothing more than others about Piozzi's character 
and standing, his conjectures will not outweigh the 
judgment which they had better opportunities of 
forming. As to the doctor's affection, Ave speak 
with diffidence, haA-ing had very httle experience in 
these affairs of the heart : but it does not seem to 
uSj that at the age of seventy-five he would be trans- 
ported with the tender pEission ; nor that, with one 
foot in the grave, he would have engaged in a love- 
chase with any brilliant promise of success. His 
lordship makes himself merry with the aristocratic 
feeling of these humble persons, Avho considered her 
marriage with Piozzi as a degradation ; and, sure 
enough, it is ridiculous for one earthly potsherd to 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 253 

look down upon another, which happens to be an 
inch or two lower in the dust. But such is the Avay 
of the Avorld ; it is universal, although it be not a 
true nor wise one ; and weU as he discourses on the 
subject, theoretically considered, Ave strongly appre- 
hend, that, if the case should be his own, and a 
daughter of his house should marry a foreign adven- 
turer, he Avould set up an outcry of Avrath and vexa- 
tion that might be heard across the deep. 

We do not think, that this Avriter, in his estimate of 
Johnson, makes sufficient alloAvance for the effect 
of the disease A\^hich hung like a millstone round his 
neck through all his mortal existence, — a disease 
Avhich brings Avith it every form of gloom and irrita- 
bility, and Avhich, in his case, Avas aggravated by the 
lonehness in AA'hich he lived ; for it is remarkable, 
that, AA'ith his Avonderfnl poAver of conversation, his 
society should have been so little sought ; though, 
indeed, if the circle in Avhich he moved had been 
ever so extensive and inspiring, it could not have 
afforded him the relief and comfort of a home. And 
yet his lordship has had, as he says, unusual advan- 
tages for observing this fearful complaint, of seeing 
the paralyzing mfluence Avhich it exerts upon the 
mind and the Avill, and the deadly aversion Avhich it 
gives to those active efforts in Avhich the only remedy 
can be found. This disorder Avas deeply engrained 
in Johnson's constitution ; it brought Avith it a sense 
of ever-present iriisery, and oppressed him Avith dark 
forebodings ; he evidently feared the time Avhen the 
intellect Avould sink under it, leaving him a miserable 
ruin. Had physical education been understood in 
22 



254 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 

his day, he might possibly have been reheved by 
attention to diet and exercise, which no one then 
seemed to suspect had any connection Avith heahh, 
or the want of it. One brave effort of that kind he 
made, in giving up the stimulating drinks of all kinds 
to which he had resorted for relief, — an abstinence 
in which he persevered to the last ; but generally, in 
this instance, as in that of Colhns and Cowper, the 
malady seems to have been treated as a visitation of 
God, with which there Avas no such thing as con- 
tending. When one thinks of his long struggle with 
poverty ; of his dining behind a screen at Cave's^ 
because too meanly dressed to appear at that great 
man's table ; of his supporting hfe for a long time 
on less than sixpence a day; of his occasional en- 
joyment of conversation with men like Burke, which, 
when it was over, left him in solitude and sorrow ; 
of the plaintive manner in Avhich he Avould entreat 
others to sit up with him, that he might escape as 
long as possible the terrors of the night, — it gives 
us a vieAv of his condition, which, one would think, 
would excuse many of those petulant expressions 
that appear numerous because BosAvell has faithfully 
recorded them, and has not ahvays stated that it was 
his OAvn folly which brought down the shoAver-bath 
of compliments upon his head. We learn from Miss 
Reynolds, who was the Griffith among bis chroni- 
clers, that he gave the impression of a man of un- 
hcAvn manners, but of a kind and affectionate heart. 
And, while Ave do not undervalue that grace of hfe 
in which he was so sadly wanting, it is but right to 
remember his active and self-denying charity ; it is 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. 11. 255 

but right to ask of those who censure him, if they 
would be ready to receive and support two helpless 
and unattractive women, together with a poor phy- 
sician, whose practice, unprofitable to himself, was 
probably far more so to his victims ; forming a com- 
munity in Avhich a favor done to one gave a pang to 
the rest, and where he himself found so little com- 
fort, that he dreaded to enter his own door, but 
would not dislodge them, because they could have 
no home but for him. Truly, if it was required of 
those who censure Johnson to exercise equal gene- 
rosity, the voices of condemnation would be few and 
small. 

While Lord Brougham, as it seems to us, hardly 
does justice to the great moralist, presenting a view 
of him which is deficient in harmony and wholeness, 
and made up of parts not always consistent with 
each other, the shade of Boswell would be beside 
itself with exultation to find his own opinion of his 
own merits confirmed by so competent a judge ; for 
assuredly the Auchinleck patrician never dreamed 
that his connection with Johnson would suggest to 
any human mind the recollection of the intercourse 
of Plato and Xenophon Avith Socrates. His lordship 
praises not only his tact, cleverness, and skill, but 
his admirable good-humor, his strict love of truth, 
his high and generous principle, his kindness to his 
friends, and his Avell-meant but sometimes grotesque 
devotion ; and says that his book, once taken up, is 
the most difficult of all others to lay down. Cer- 
tainly, no man of really intellectual taste ever joins 
in the contempt which is poured on Boswell' s name ; 



256 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. 11. 

nor, on the other hand, will maiiy be ready to sub- 
scribe to such extensive praise as this. The truth 
is, that his contemporaries were as much at a loss to 
know what place to assign him as men of the pre- 
sent day. Lord Stowell, when pressed on the 
subject, could only say that he was universally wel- 
come as a "jolly fellow." It was his pleasure to 
parade those weaknesses which most men keep to 
themselves ; and, as he kept his banner of folly per- 
petually flying, they did no justice to the merits 
which he possessed in no small degree. What but 
a strong admiration of intellectual power could have 
induced him to lead the life which he did ? And it 
shows how oddly our notions of high and low are 
perverted, that so many wonder at his submitting to 
the caprice of Johnson, while it is considered per- 
fectly natural that such a person as Miss Burney 
should feel herself honored by the trust of preparing 
snufF for the queen. 

We have no disposition to find fault with Lord 
Brougham's estimate of Johnson's literary merits ; 
and what he says of the style of the great moralist 
is altogether discriminating and true. To Johnson's 
poetry he assigns a rank perhaps too high, if it be 
regarded as poetry ; but when we regard it as elo- 
quent and powerful declamation, like that of Ju- 
venal, against the vices and follies of the times, it 
certainly exhibits a striking union of deep feeling 
with majesty and might. He loved the regular 
cadences of verse, which he is said to have read in a 
very impressive way ; and we see, in fact, in his 
prose, that measured step and those balanced periods 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. 11. 257 

which would seem wearily formal and mechanical in 
any other, but which affect us differently in his case, 
because they are the natural expression of his mind. 
Some of his writings Lord Brougham characterizes 
as dull and flimsy, in which he has reference princi- 
pally to the " Eambler " and " Idler," and seems to 
us to express a hasty and ill-considered opinion. Dull 
the "Rambler" may be, but flimsy it is not: it is 
dull to us because it was an ephemeral publication, 
which found readers, and satisfied them in the day 
for which it Avas intended ; and, if it has lost its 
attraction, it is in the same predicament with the 
^' Spectator," which no one now thinks of sitting 
down to devour. That it was not wholly specu- 
lative and unpractical, appears from the circumstance 
pointed out by Lord Brougham himself, that John- 
son, in some of these light periodicals, has an able 
argument against imprisonment for debt, and capital 
punishment ; thus anticipating, by three quarters of a 
century, questions of great interest, which his own 
age cared httle for, but which have become subjects 
of vast importance at the present day. 

We fully accede to the justice of the opinion which 
pronounces the " Lives of the Poets " the best of 
* Johnson's works. Some of these biographies are 
spoken of with contempt, for their prejudice and 
narrowness, by those who have never read them. 
Lord Brougham thinks the life of Milton, for exam- 
ple, does not deserve the censure usually cast upon 
it ; and any one can see, that, while Johnson had no 
sympathy with Milton's politics, and was unable to 
appreciate the peculiar beauties of " Lycidas," he 

22* 



258 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 

assigns to the "Paradise Lost" a place among the 
highest efforts of the human mind. The life of Sav- 
age is here spoken of as overpraised, and that of 
Swift as most objectionable; while it is admitted, 
that Johnson may have been so severe on the Dean 
of St. Patrick's because he was so untrue to the sa- 
cred profession, which, Avith his tastes and principles, 
he ought never to have assumed. As to Johnson's 
prejudices, whatever they were, they never worked 
in darkness : he always fearlessly avowed them ; 
while his clear-headed sagacity, his sharp critical 
discernment, his manly indignation at every thing 
unworthy, his occasionally profound discussions, and 
pointed and glittering remarks, giving life to the 
narrative, which generally flows full Avilh thought, 
and, among other attractions, his occasional solem- 
nity and tenderness of feeling, — these various merits • 
are united in a work which will never lose its charm 
for intellectual readers so long as our language 
endures. 

But Dr. Johnson's works of various kinds, excel- 
lent and instructive as they are, will be more or less 
esteemed as the literary fashion changes ; always 
sure, however, of readers of the higher order, how- 
ever neglected by the light and trifling generation* 
who disdain all things but new. If they were lost 
and forgotten, his fame "would rest securely on his 
conversation as Boswell has recorded it, which is uri- 
rivalled for its point, brilliancy, and strength : it is 
here that his clear and powerful mind makes the 
richest display of its activity, and the vast variety of 
its resources. It goes straight as a cannon-ball to 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. 11. 259 

the heart of every subject ; with intuitive discernment 
he sees the matter at once in all its bearings ; no 
mysticism nor illusion can stand for a moment before 
him ; but, so far from giving a cold dissection of the 
question presented, his views are made interesting by 
the finest possible illustrations, and that quick sar- 
casm and playful humor, always at perfect command, 
in which he was never exceeded. We do not well 
understand on Avhat authority Lord Brougham un- 
dertakes to place Swift before him. The dean's 
range was limited, he says ; but within it he must have 
been very great. It is true that he had that strong 
common sense and wit which are among the chief 
elements of success ; but Ave do not know that he 
had the overflowing abundance and easy command 
of his resources which conversation requires. Addi- 
son, too, he says, has left a great reputation of this 
kind ; and Bolingbroke's superiority to all others 
cannot be doubted. But it seems to us, that he 
might as Avell exalt the social powers of Adam and 
Eve, who may have been great in conversation for 
aught Ave know, though the existing records of it are 
quite too few to sustain a confident opinion. 

When Lord Brougham speaks of Johnson's con- 
•versation as no conversation in any proper sense 
of the Avord, as destitute of all free interchange of 
thought, and alloAving no free discussion of senti- 
ments and opinions, he is evidently misled by Bos- 
Avell's record ; for that Avorthy did not care to set 
down any thing but Avhat Johnson said : the remarks 
of others Avere introduced only Avhen they served as 
suggestions for his own. It would have been in- 



'260 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 

human to require of him to treasure up all the lifeless 
and indifferent things which were said, merely for 
the sake of keeping the entireness of the conversa- 
tion. And yet the prominence which is thus given 
to the remarks of Johnson makes them appear or- 
acular and dictatorial, as if to hear what he would 
say was the only object and concern of the Avhole 
party. Now Boswell had this feeling, — that it Avas 
the province of all others to listen, and Johnson's 
alone to speak ; but others, doubtless, viewed the 
matter in a different light ; and these were like all 
other conversations, in which each one took his share, 
while Johnson bore the most distinguished part, — 
as, indeed, he would, were he living in any circle of 
the present day. Let the attempt be made to record 
the sayings of any other master of conversation, — 
Sir James Mackintosh, for example, — and one 
easily sees that in these social efforts Johnson has no 
brother near his throne. 

Though Lord Brougham, in his particular criti- 
cisms on Dr. Johnson's mind and character, is not 
always entirely just, his summary of the whole is 
given in terms to which no objection can be made. 
He says that those who saw him but once or twice 
formed an erroneous estimate of his temper, which* 
was rather kindly and sociable, and not at all sullen 
or morose ; he allows that Johnson, to the last, had 
nothing of that severity and querulousness which the 
old are so apt to feel. He admits that he was 
friendly, actively so, in the highest degree ; that he 
was even imprudently charitable ; that he was strictly 
and always just ; that his love of truth was wonder- 



MEN QP LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 261 

ful, in matters both small and great ; and that his 
habitual piety, his sense of his own unworthiness, 
and his generally blameless life, entitled him to a 
place among the good and great ; while he showed 
his right appreciation of this world's honors, by at- 
taching more importance to his worth than to his 
fame. Certainly this is high praise, and such as few 
can ever deserve. But we do not see in this writer 
the hearty sympathy with Avhich Carlyle, for exam- 
ple, enters into the struggles and sorrows of " brave 
old Samuel," admires the heroism and manly inde- 
pendence of his bearing, and does not upbraid him 
with the coarseness of his manners, out of respect 
for the firm energy with which, through his dreary 
voyage of life, he forced his strained and shattered 
vessel, " built in the eclipse," through the dark and 
resisting sea. 

Next in order is Adam Smith, who is represented 
in Croker's Boswell, the main characteristic of which 
is a brave neglect of dates and all kinds of precision, 
as having come in conflict with Johnson, when the 
latter was on his northern tour. It is said, that 
the subject of difference was Smith's account of 
Hume's last sickness ; that Johnson, with his usual 
benignity, told Smith that he lied, and that he of the 
"Moral Sentiments," in return, applied to the mo- 
ralist a term which properly belongs to younger 
branches of the canine race, and is not often, we 
believe, used in the best society Avith respect to 
them, — though of this we speak doubtfully, having 
no means in our solitary attic of knowing what re- 
finements may have been introduced by the elegant 



262 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 

literature of the day. It is a pity to disturb the story 
of this classical communion ; but, as Johnson was in 
Scotland in 1773, and Hume died in 1776, it Avas 
certainly premature in the doctor to take offence 
three years before offence was given. In fact, this 
slight anachronism brings the authenticity of the 
whole account into serious question ; not, however, 
to the disparagement of Sir Walter Scott, whom 
Lord Brougham is inclined to blame for it. He, 
indeed, reported it to Croker ; but he said distinctly 
that he had it from Professor John Millar, to whom, 
therefore, the responsibility belongs. It was, no 
doubt, an imaginative picture of what the meeting of 
these tw^o great men, if they came together, was 
likely to have been ; dealing Avith the future as Mr. 
Landor brings up the voices of the past. 

Not much is knoAvn of the early days of Adam 
Smith, save that he Avas stolen by gypsies in his 
childhood, but soon happily rescued ; and that his 
delicate health in youth drove him to the usual re- 
source of books and study. Having obtained an 
exhibition for Baliol College, he spent seven years 
at Oxford, but afterAvards retained very little rever- 
ence and affection for that time-honored institution. 
Of the enlargement of mind Avhich then distinguished 
it, some judgment may be formed from the fact, that 
he Avas sharply reprimanded for reading Hume's 
" Treatise of Human Nature ; " and the ray of light 
Avhich Avas struggling in at the keyhole Avas extin- 
guished by taking such Avorks aAvay. At the age of 
twenty-nine, he filled the chair of Moral Philosophy 
in the University of GlasgOAv ; a place for Avhich he 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 263 

was admirably suited by his power of communication 
as well as by the habits of his mind, as he spoke with 
great fluency Avhen once engaged in his subject, and 
was listened to Avith the enthusiasm which his ability, 
accompanied by a popular manner, might be ex- 
pected to inspire. It is much to be regretted, that 
his lectures were destroyed by his own hand before 
he died. The course of Natural Theology was one 
which would have great interest for readers of the 
present day ; and such was the variety of suggestion 
always flowing from his active and fertile mind, that 
every part must have contained much to interest and 
instruct mankind. 

It was in 1759, that Adam Smith published his 
" Theory of Moral Sentiments," a work so eloquent 
and interesting that it could not fail to meet Avith 
immediate and general success. This Avas the case 
in Great Britain, though, as Grimm tells us, it 
entirely failed in Paris, a region Avhere moral senti- 
ments are generally in but little demand. It is true 
that the leading principle of the Avork, resolving all 
moral approbation into sympathy, is quite too narroAV 
to be true, as Avould be felt at once by any thought- 
ful reader ; but, considered as a treatise on sympathy, 
or a vieAv of some aspects of human nature, seen 
with searching discrimination, and presented in a 
rich and fascinating style, it Avould not be easy to 
say too much in its praise. One effect of the fame 
of this Avork was to recommend him to Charles 
ToAvnshend, Avho had married the Duchess of Buc- 
cleuch, and Avho employed him to accompany the 
young duke, her son, upon his travels. This gave 



264 MEN OP LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. M. 

him an opportunity of forming an acquaintance with 
the eminent men upon the continent, and uhimately 
led to his appointment as a revenue officer ; one of 
those splendid rewards of intellectual greatness Avhich 
are held forth as a bounty to such efforts in England, 
and of late in this country. There, the iron-headed 
wolves who rob and murder in the service of the 
stale are heaped with estates, titles, and orders, Avhile 
such men as Burns are made excisemen at the rate 
of seventy pounds a year. Here, men of fine talent 
and manly understanding may peradventure have a 
place in the custom-house, while all rich pastures are 
carefully reserved for the worthless cattle who move 
in the droves of party. 

There was another less questionable advantage 
which Dr. Smith secured by means of his residence 
abroad : this was the acquaintance of distinguished 
men, particularly in France, where he found those 
whose tastes and investigations were similar to his 
own. Among these was Quesnay, of whom we hear 
in Marmontel's " Memoirs," who had acquired a 
great reputation by his writings on political economy ; 
a science which had attracted attention in its various 
parts from the middle of the last century, and which 
he was endeavoring to reduce to a systematic and 
practical form. Though the public at large were 
unable to comprehend the point and value of Ques- 
nay's suggestions, he was admired by such men as 
Condorcet, Turgot, and the elder Mirabeau, " the 
crabbed old friend of man." Dr. Smith had such 
an opinion of his ability and excellence, that he 
would have dedicated the " Wealth of Nations " to 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 265 

him, if Quesnay had lived to receive the attention. 
He was not sufficiently master of the French lan- 
guage to speak it fluently ; but he was able to com- 
municate with such men as this, though not to 
chatter with the apes and peacocks of fashionable 
circles ; a privation, however, which he bore with 
great fortitude. 

About a dozen years after this European tour, 
appeared the celebrated " Inquiry into the Nature 
and Causes of the Wealth of Nations," a work which 
is the surest foundation of his fame ; for, although it 
was anticipated in its doctrines by the French and 
Italian philosophers, it was so marked, as Hume 
said, by depth, solidity, acuteness, and power of illus- 
tration, that it placed him at the head of all who had 
attended to this great subject, riot even excepting the 
historian himself, whose own essays upon these ques- 
tions possessed all the merits which he delighted to 
ascribe to those of his friend. It is not to be under- 
stood that Dr. Smith's views were borrowed : his 
way was to elaborate those truths for himself in the 
solitude and silence of his own mind. If he was 
indebted to any one, it was probably to Hume, 
whose essays may have been the means of turning 
his attention to these inquiries. In the year when 
those remarkable essays were published, he began to 
lecture on political economy in Glasgow; and, from 
the character of his intellectual hfe, we may readily 
infer that his views were original in himself, though 
others may at the same time have reached conclu- 
sions resembling his own. 

It was shortly after the publication of this great 
23 



266 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 

work that he received the appointment of commis- 
sioner of the customs ; a compHment about as ade- 
quate to his merits and claims as if Le Verrier, in 
acknowledgment of his late scientific exploit, should 
be appointed to superintend a church-clock in his 
native city. It gave him a subsistence, indeed ; but 
the duties of the office were incessant and vexatious, 
pecuharly unsuited to one who was remarkable for 
his absence of mind, an infirmity carried so far that he 
would often talk in company, perfectly unconscious 
of their presence ; and, in some instances, he would 
enlighten those about him as to his opinion of their 
merits, disclosing much more than they delighted to 
know. He moved through the streets with his hands 
behind him and his head in the air, wholly uncon- 
scious of any obstructions that might be in his way. 
On one occasion he overturned the stall of a fiery old 
woman, who, finding him perfectly unmoved by her 
tempest of salutations, caught him by his garment, 
saying, " Speak to me, or I shall die." It is rather 
singular, that, with these habits, he could accomplish 
any thing in the way of official duty ; and the beauty 
and fitness of such rewards of intellectual greatness 
were manifested in the necessity which it brought 
with it, of suspending those labors of the mind, which, 
though they would not answer for the custom-house, 
might have enlightened and blessed the world. Rich 
and active as his mind was, the preparation of his 
great works required great expense of labor and time. 
His habit of composition, too, was laborious and 
slow ; it never became easier by practice, but, as he 
told Mr. Stewart not long before his death, he always 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. 11. 267 

wrote with the same difficuUy as at first ; or, perhaps 
we should say, he spoke ; for, instead of writing with 
his own hand, he employed an amanuensis, to whom 
he dictated as he walked about the room. He was 
unfortunately fastidious in his judgment of his own 
works ; he had eighteen folio volumes of his own 
writing, which he ordered to be destroyed before his 
death. His friends promised that it should be done ; 
but he was not satisfied till the sacrifice was actually 
made, and the labor of so many years was reduced 
to dust and ashes. lie said that he meant to have 
done more, and there were materials in his manu- 
scripts out of which he could have made much ; 
but he had not time for it, and all was lost to the 
world. Will such governments as that of England 
ever become sufficiently enlightened to withdraw 
some portion of the immense amount now spent in 
prizes for bloodshed, and appropriate it to the sup- 
port of those who, in a day of higher civilization, 
will be at once the glory and the shame of their 
country ? — a country which knows its true interest 
and honor no better than to lavish dukedoms and 
princely fortunes on Marlborough and Wellington, 
while these men, in every respect of mind and char- 
acter immeasurably above mere soldiers, are thought 
highly blessed to receive from it enough to keep body 
and soul together in the dreary winter of their days. 
Nothing can be more attractive than the account 
which Lord Brougham gives of Smith's disposition. 
His benevolence was often carried beyond his means, 
and always delicate in its regard to the feelings of 
others. His principles of integrity were firm and high. 



268 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 

The ihoughtfulness of study, the demands of ill 
health, had no tendency to make him selfish ; and the 
approaches of age did not chill the warmth of his 
affections. His mother lived Avith him till her death, 
in 1784 ; and, after her death, his cousin. Miss Dou- 
glas, took charge of his family for the four succeeding 
years. Her decease, in 1788, deprived him of most 
of the comforts of his hospitable home ; but he lin- 
gered on with broken health and spirits, though with 
an equal mind, till 1790, when a painful disorder 
brought him down to the grave. A few days before 
he died, several distinguished friends, who were ac- 
customed to sup with him on Sunday, Avere with him ; 
when, finding himself unable to go with them to the 
table, he said, " I believe we must adjourn this meet- 
ing to some other place ; " after which they never 
met again. His complaints were of the kind which 
are brought on by over-exertion of the brain and the 
inactivity of a literary life. At one time he believed 
he had found a panacea for his diseases in tar-water, 
which was recommended by so great an authority 
as Berkeley, and was hailed with as much enthu- 
siasm as sundry other nostrums, each of Avhich 
works miracles for the time, though unfortunately 
its wonders and glories are too good to last. The 
history of all such inventions and discoveries is 
written in two passages of his letters. In one he 
says : " Tar-water is a remedy in vogue here for 
almost all diseases : it has perfectly cured me of an 
inveterate scurvy and shaking in the head." But, 
not long after this happy restoration, he says that 
he has had those complaints as long as he remem- 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 



269 



bers any thing, and " the lar-water has not removed 
them." 

The letter of Adam Smith in which he describes 
the closing life of Hume has been the subject of 
much remark, not very complimentary in its tone ; 
for, in former days, many, who manifested no other 
interest in Christianity, were furious against unbe- 
lievers ; and nothing could be more unscrupulous 
than the manner in which they abused those sinners, 
by way of giving them a taste of the religion of love. 
Few men have ever received so much of this friendly 
attention as Hume. His crime seemed to be, that he 
was not so wicked as, in their opinion, an infidel 
ought to be. Of this offence he was certainly guilty ; 
and so odious did it make him, that it required some 
courage in the good-natured Boswell, even under 
Johnson's broadside, to tell him that " he was better 
than his books ; " a eulogy which, proceeding from 
such a quarter, might, one would think, have turned 
his brain for ever. Now, though religionists at the 
time had no patience with his serenity and cheerful- 
ness, still, if he possessed that equanimity in his clos- 
ing hour, there is no good reason why his friend 
should not mention it even in words of praise. It is 
true he had no right understanding of the religious 
relations in which he stood ; but this should be dealt 
with as a misfortune, rather than as one of the seven 
deadly sins. Those who press their censures be- 
yond the bounds of justice always throw the general 
sympathy on the opposite side. What Dr. Smith's 
religious opinions were, it is not easy to say : there 
are none of his writings in which he has disclosed 

23* 



270 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 



them. Lord Brougham thinks that there are allu- 
sions enough to a Divine Providence, and the hopes 
of a future state, to remove all doubts on the subject ; 
but, if he was alienated from Christianity, and we 
have some fears that he was, it was probably owing 
in part to the abuse which Christians, so called, had 
heaped without measure upon his friend. 

Lord Brougham passes to the Englishman Gibbon, 
if English he may be called who prided himself on 
writing French like a native, and whose joy it was 
to spend so many of his days at a distance from his 
own land. Gibbon was one of those who have light- 
ened the labor of biographers by giving some sketch 
of his own life and mind. There is some danger of 
partiality in these accounts, and they cannot always 
be implicitly trusted ; not from any disposition to 
mislead on the part of the writers, but from that over- 
exaltation with which poor human nature contem- 
plates its own perfections, and the Christian tender- 
ness which it extends to its own sins. Still, it is 
interesting to see how such men stood with them- 
selves ; and their self-estimation, whether high or low, 
is always one of the chief elements from which an 
estimate of character is made up. In the case of 
Gibbon, there was no struggle with difficult circum- 
stances, no various adventure, nothing of that inci- 
dent which gives life to the story. Though not rich, 
he was well provided for ; he had the full command 
of his time and motions ; he had the most desirable 
social resources at all times within his reach. But, 
with that spirit which seems inseparable from the 
human heart, we find him lamenting that he had not 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 271 

embraced the lucrative profession of law or trade, or 
even " the fat slumbers of the church ; " though it is 
not probable that he would have succeeded in either 
of the former ; and as to " fat slumbers," we imagine 
it would have been difficult to find the happy indi- 
vidual who enjoyed more of them in life than he. 
The health of the great historian was very delicate 
in his childhood ; and he therefore did not enjoy the 
advantage of much discipline or instruction. For- 
tunately for him, he was under the care of an aunt, 
a woman of good taste and judgment, who directed 
his inclination for reading, which was very strong, 
and which turned itself most passionately to history, 
the natural resource of the young reader in that day, 
when a swarm of novels as worthless as the writers 
of them had not yet come up into every corner of 
people's houses, forming one of the chief pests of the 
age. He read such works, however, more thoroughly 
than is common with the young. For example, when 
engaged with Howell's " History of the World," he 
studied the geography of the Byzantine period, which 
was contained in the volume that fell into his hands, 
examining also the chronological systems which had 
reference to the subject ; thus unconsciously prepar- 
ing for the work which he was afterwards to do. He 
was hardly fifteen when he entered the University of 
Oxford, — a place which has a great and venerable 
name, but which, according to Gibbon and Adam 
Smith, offered greater advantages to wine-bibbers 
and sinners than to those who wanted education, 
without maturity of mind or force of character to work 
it out for themselves. The result with him was, that 



272 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 

he had read three or four plays of Terence after 
fourteen months' instruction ; his habits were irregular 
and expensive ; no care was given to his religious 
and moral instruction. Under the influence of a 
friend who had become a Catholic, he was converted 
to that form of Christianity, much to the annoyance 
of his father, whose notions on the subject were 
not the most enlarged, and who could devise no bet- 
ter way to reclaim him than to put him under the 
influence of Mallet the poet, whose chief accomplish- 
ment for the trust appears to have been, that he had 
no regard for Christianity whatever ; as if a person 
could be reclaimed from what was thought excess on 
one side, by the winning exhibition of far coarser 
excess on the other. 

Finding that this beautiful experiment did not suc- 
ceed, his father sent him to Lausanne, where he was 
put under the care of a pious and sensible Protestant 
divine, who soon gained an influence with him, and 
brought him back from the Roman fold, which was 
not then beset with converts, as it is in the present 
day. The probability is, that there was no depth in 
his feeling on either side ; and it may have been 
because he found himself so cheered and welcomed 
on these several occasions, and was so complimented 
for his religious principles and feelings when he was 
not conscious of having any, that he afterwards held 
Christianity in so very light esteem. Meantime, he 
was faithfully and diligently employed in study, pay- 
ing attention not only to French literature, with which 
he was familiar, but securing those treasures of classi- 
cal learning which he afterwards used to so great ad- 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 273 

vantage. The monotony of his retired life was varied 
by an affair of the heart with the daughter of a pastor, 
— the same lady afterwards known as the wife of 
Neckar and mother of Madame de Stael. He re- 
sorted to the desperate measure of throwing himself 
on his knees before her ; a most unguarded act, since 
he could not rise himself by reason of his weight, and 
she was not able, if disposed, to lift him ; so that it 
was not till the servants came in that he was released 
from his unhappy posture, and enabled to depart in 
peace. 

When he returned from abroad, he was kindly 
received by his father, who had married a second 
wife, a person Avho became to Gibbon a kind and 
faithful friend. A military taste infested the country 
at that time ; and people the most unfit for such 
extravagances hurried away from their harmless 
employments to share the excitement of war, at a 
comfortable distance from its dangers. Gibbon, 
among others, was glorified with the rank of captain 
in the regiment of which his father was major ; but 
he found no enjoyment in what he called his military 
life ; he complained of the loss of time which it oc- 
casioned, and the rude companionship to which it 
exposed him : it was altogether unsuited to his taste, 
Avhich did not fit him even for literary warfare, save 
when there was no enemy arrayed against him, 
as when he published his work on the study of 
literature, in which he vindicates, as he says, his 
favorite ; though who had attacked it, or thrown any 
reproach upon it, since the " Battle of the Books," it 
was not easy to tell. His essay, being written in 



274 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 

French, was not read at all in England : abroad, it 
excited some attention from the singularity of French 
correctly written by a foreigner. He apologized for 
what seemed like an affectation, by saying that he 
had hopes of some diplomatic appointment, which it 
might help to secure him ; but it was probably more 
from display than any other reason, that he under- 
took to " babble the dialect of France." There are 
very few who are acquainted with a foreign language 
who can resist the temptation to flourish it in the 
eyes and ears of men. 

The natural bent of Gibbon's mind inclined him 
strongly to historical investigations ; and, while en- 
gaged in the bloodless campaigns of the militia, he 
had been revolving various subjects in his mind, such 
as the expedition of Charles the Eighth into Italy, the 
wars of the English barons, and the short and bril- 
liant lives of the Black Prince, of Sir Philip Sidney, 
and Montrose. He had almost determined to en- 
gage in a biography of Raleigh, and read with deep 
interest all the records of his romantic and adventur- 
ous life. But, among so many fine subjects, he was 
perplexed Avilh the variety and number ; and it 
was not till he had made a visit to Rome that his 
mind took fast hold of any one. There, in October, 
1764, as he sat musing in the ruins of the Capitol, 
he heard the barefooted friars singing vespers in the 
Temple of Jupiter ; a sound which, as one might 
have supposed, brought up affecting and powerful 
associations of the changes and revolutions that had 
passed over the Eternal City, and which was itself a 
sufficient illustration of the decline and fall of the 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 275 

glory that had passed away. But the mere passing 
thought was not sufficient to inspire him : it was not 
till he felt the want of steady and systematic employ- 
ment, to keep his mind in tune, and to prevent the 
exertion of its self-tormenting power, that he was 
able to nerve himself for the great enterprise before 
him. He found that nothing is more afflicting than 
the literary leisure which intellectual men so earnestly 
desire. It was once stated in a Western print, that 
" the operation of the ' Relief laws ' had been found 
very burdensome ; " and so in life, relieve a man from 
the obligation to labor with his mind or hands, and 
he can hardly bear the weight of existence. If he is 
not under any such necessity, he must supply the 
want of it for himself; and this was done by Gibbon, 
with equal wisdom and success. 

His great work was commenced in 1772, with 
diligent and efficient preparation. He appears to 
have been aware that his weak point would be the 
style ; and so anxious was he to guard from failure 
in this respect, that the first chapter was written 
three times, and the next two twice over, before they 
gave him satisfaction. But even then he was too 
easily satisfied ; for, after all, he never gained the 
power of melting down his various materials into a 
harmonious, consistent, and flowing story. There 
are constant intimations of what the reader has no 
means of knowing, awkward and squinting allusions 
to facts and incidents which are behind the scenes, 
and a way of introducing subjects indirectly and by 
imphcation, which, if produced at all, should come 
full before us in the march of the history, each in its 



276 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 

place and order. Many sentences seem intended 
for riddles to try the ingenuity of the reader ; over 
others we ponder quite as long as is worth Avhile to 
make sure that we understand them, — a natural 
and reasonable desire, in which Ave are sometimes 
disappointed after all. And yet we must allow, 
that, while his manner of writing is neither easy nor 
graceful, it is more in keeping with his subject than 
it would be with any other ; resembling the lordly 
march of a Roman emperor in his floAving purple, 
stately and majestic, though restricting the free 
movements of the form. But, while it had some 
obvious defects, its merits were superlatively great. 
The two great historians of the time delighted to 
honor it, — Hume with friendly and sympathizing 
interest, Robertson with gentlemanly praise. More- 
over, it had the honor of being dedicated to a royal 
duke ; and history has recorded the exclamation of 
distaste which fell from the Maecenas, when he saw 
the historian heaving in sight with " his great square 
book." Thus heralded, the work was received with 
great applause. While Hume's history was left on 
the bookseller's shelves, the first edition of this was 
sold almost in a day : it was found in the studies 
of tlie learned, and in the saloons of fashion. One 
can hardly tell how it happened, that such a work, 
with all its great merit, should have gained favor 
with those who had no taste for the delightful narra- 
tive of Hume. But the voice of applause was not 
the only sound which the author heard on this occa- 
sion. The chm-ch militant, always sufficiently war- 
like for a religion of peace, was at this time up in 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 277 

arms. Various divines, with Bishop Watson at their 
head, assailed him for the unfairness and malignant 
spirit of those parts in which Christianity is men- 
tioned, and confronted him with charges which he 
was not able to disprove. When they accused him 
of incorrect statement and false quotation, he was 
prepared to meet them : his regard to his character 
as a historian was enough to save him from those 
errors and crimes. But he could not deny that he 
wrote in the character of a Christian, with an evident 
design to tlu-OAV contempt on the religion ; that he 
intimated, in language sharp and sneering, what he 
dared not openly advance ; that he made his history 
a means of gratifying a spiteful and resentful feeling, 
which he seemed to want courage to avow ; and 
that, under some strange perversion of feeling, he 
seemed to enjoy and defend the persecution of the 
early martyrs, making light of their patient fortitude, 
and justifying the oppressor's crimes. It is not easy 
to explain how this venomous feehng against the 
religion originated in his breast. It does not seem 
so much like a doubt of its truth and divinity, as an 
aversion to the name. But he finds his retribution 
now : his credit as a historian is far lower than if he 
had come out with an open declaration of his un- 
belief ; and, mstead of exciting admiration by his 
vast power of irony, he gives the impression of 
something unsound in his heart. 

In the two years betAveen the publication of the 

first and the commencement of the second volume, 

he employed himself in his attendance as a member 

of parliament, and in a visit to his friends, the 

24 



278 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 

Neckars, in Paris, where his famiharity with the 
French language made him generally welcome. 
Hume, who was a favorite there, was laughed at for 
his ignorance of French, and his awkward simplicity 
of manners. Gibbon appears to have been more 
respected than beloved. In parliament, he gained 
credit by drawing up a memorial in defence of the 
British government against the French claims, in 
1778. For this he was rewarded with the sinecure 
place of Lord of Trade, which he held till the board 
was abolished, in 1784, when, finding his income 
unequal to the expense of living in London, he 
determined to spend the rest of his days at Lau- 
sanne. He longed to take a part in the debates of 
parliament ; but, as often as he thought of the horrors 
of a failure, he shrank back with dismay. He was 
not aware hoAv many empty vessels in all public 
bodies make the welkin ring with their abundance 
and endlessness of sound. Extemporaneous speak- 
ing in its ordinary forms is easily acquired, — too 
easily, indeed, for the comfort and respectability of 
our halls of state. Even now the silent members 
are the chief ornaments of such places, and the 
country would not lament if a prevailing lockjaw 
should suppress the eloquence of many who might' 
as well be still. 

After the completion of his second and third vol- 
umes, which, as he was well aware, were not re- 
ceived as warmly as the first, — not, however, on 
account of the matter or style, but simply because 
the great majority of readers have no delight in 
books that are long, — he was in doubt whether to 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 279 

proceed, or to close the history with the fall of the 
Western Empire. But the same necessity which 
urged him to begin required him to persevere : in- 
deed, it was more difficult, when once accustomed 
to the routine, to sink back into listless repose. He 
therefore kept on, and nearly completed his fourth 
volume before leaving England, after narrowly escap- 
ing a controversy with Dr. Priestley, to which he 
was earnestly invited by that excellent but somewhat 
warlike divine. He was prepared to hear his treat- 
ment of Christianity condemned, and was not sur- 
prised when the censure came, though rather stunned 
by its depth and loudness ; but he does not seem to 
have been in the least aware that the indecency of 
his notes Avould be matter of reproach. One can 
hardly conceive what his habits of thought must have 
been, to see nothing objectionable in his account of 
Theodora, for example. Even when Person thun- 
dered out his anathema, Gibbon seemed more dis- 
posed to smile at such a person officiating in the 
capacity of moralist, than to resent, or even to feel, 
the reproach. The only excuse he thinks it neces- 
sary to make is, that the narrative is what it should 
be, and only the notes are licentious ; whereas it is 
evident, that this very consciousness, and the thin veil 
of another language, only serve to excite attention, 
which the reader without them never would have 
thought of giving. It implies an enlightened knoAv- 
ledge of human nature, like that of one who should 
inclose what he wished 1o conceal in a thin covering, 
writing on it a request to the public that no one 
would look in. 



280 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 

The history was completed in 1787 ; and most 
readers are familiar with the striking description of 
his feelings, as he wrote the closing words in a sum- 
mer-house in his garden, at the hour of midnight, 
Avhen the air was mild, the sky serene, and the moon- 
light sweetly reflected from the waters. His first 
thought was that of joy at recovering his freedom, 
and perhaps establishing his fame. But, on reflec- 
tion, he felt that he had parted with an old and 
agreeable companion, which had been a source of 
high and intellectual interest for years ; and that, 
however the history might endure, the days of the 
writer were wasting to their close. The question of 
the duration of the history was soon decided. Every 
intelligent reader felt that only a most uncommon 
sagacity could have seen through the confusion of 
the chaotic variety of his materials, estimating their 
claims and merits, and their often obscure relations 
with each other. So far from complaining of any 
want of clearness in the narrative, the wonder is, that 
he should ever have been able to subdue them into 
tolerable harmony and order. He seems never to 
have been weary of searching into the endless range 
of subjects presented, balancing authorities and de- 
termining their accuracy with a precision and faith- 
fulness which few will venture to impeach. Guizot, 
himself a great authority, admires this power of judi- 
cious discrimination ; and every one is struck with 
his watchful penetration, his painstaking industry, 
and the rich abundance of learning sprinkled over 
the work almost to profusion. In these respects, he 
is as much superior to Hume as that great historian 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. 11. 281 

excelled him in the easy grace with which he tells 
his story ; and the result is, that, while Hume is no 
authority, the verdict of Gibbon is almost decisive in 
every historical question which he ever undertook to 
explore. 

Though the cold sarcasm which runs through 
Gibbon's history gives an unpleasant impression of 
the man, he appears to have been kind and affection- 
ate in his intercourse with his friends, steady and 
faithful in his attachments, and manly and honorable 
in all the relations of life. No human being could 
well be less attractive in the outward man. His 
head enormously large, with no elevation of feature, 
his mouth a round orifice directly in the centre ; his 
form heavy and unmanageable, partly with corpu- 
lence, but still more by a fearful rupture, descending 
to his knees, but which he seemed unconscious that 
any one ever saw, and which he never mentioned 
either to his physician or his attendant till it had 
brought him nearly to the grave. With all these 
impediments to personal display, he appears to have 
taken pains and pride in dress. Colman describes 
him in company, with a suit of flowered velvet, 
together with a bag and sword, while Dr. Johnson 
sat opposite in his coarse black stockings and raiment 
of rusty brown. This, however, may have been 
nothing more than the full dress of gentlemen, while 
the foppery of the great moralist was excessive on 
the opposite side. His conversation is said to have 
been of a very high order, though somewhat formal 
and labored ; his remarks appeared as if studied, 
and even his wit had the air of careful preparation ; 
24* 



282 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 

but he was ready in argument, full of information, 
and pleasant in manner, though not exempt from 
affectation. He had the oppressive consciousness of 
a great reputation to sustain, which is never favor- 
able to the true social manner, nor indeed to the best 
display of the powers. Madame du Deffand be- 
lieved him to be very learned, but was not sure that 
he was very clever ; while Suard speaks of his con- 
versation as full and animated. On the whole, he 
appears to have borne in social life and conversation 
a part not unequal to his literary name. 

It is honorable to Gibbon that he was able to 
secure and retain so many friends, among Avhom 
the most confidential was Lord Sheffield, a man of 
sense and honor, whose infirmity was, that he could 
not refrain from writing pamphlets which Lord 
Brougham pronounces unreadably dry. When in 
England, Gibbon was domesticated in his house ; 
and he with his family made visits to the historian at 
Lausanne. When his lordship suffered under the 
loss of his wife, the heaviest of domestic sorrows, he 
at once, though disabled by infirmity, set out on a 
long, painful, and dangerous journey, to comfort his 
mourning friend. He Avas not at the time aware 
that he was returning to die in his native land. But, 
soon after his return, he found it necessary to consult 
physicians, who relieved him for the time by a sur- 
gical operation ; but the difficulty returned, and a 
second operation was more painful and less bene- 
ficial than the first. The evening before he died, he 
was conversing with his friends about the probable 
duration of his life, which he fixed at ten, and possi- 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. 11. 283 

biy twenty, years. That night he was taken more ill, 
and shortly after noon on the next day he expired. 

The transition from Gibbon to Sir Joseph Banks 
bears some resemblance to a decline and fall ; and 
yet the latter was useful and distinguished in his day 
and generation, though his renown will not be likely 
to sail far beyond it. Very great credit is due to 
those who, having the means of living in luxury and 
self-indulgence, rise above the temptations of their 
position, and feel so strong a determination toward 
the walks of science, that they cannot be content to 
spend life in lazy epicureanism, or an empty fashion- 
able display. Even if they do not make any great 
discoveries, nor extend the boundaries of science, 
themselves, their aid and influence are of service to 
those Avho do ; and, under their circumstances, to 
possess such a taste implies a certain degree of 
superiority, which entitles them to a place in the gen- 
eral estimation far higher than that of intelligent and 
cultivated persons who live entirely for themselves. 
He certainly is no common man who loves know- 
ledge for its own sake, looking to no other recom- 
pense than the enjoyment of the pursuit, delighting 
in his own intimacy with nature, and contentedly 
leaving it to others to write their names where they 
will shine in the eyes of men. 

There is not much in Sir Joseph Banks to sug- 
gest the idea of D'Alembert, who comes next in 
succession ; nor did their provinces of scientific action 
lie, as Mrs. Malaprop says, contiguous to each other. 
But Lord Brougham appears to have taken the lat- 
ter as an example of the peace of mind, and repose 



284 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 

of the passions, which a life devoted to the severer 
sciences tends, more than any other, to secure. 
Adam Smith has pointed out their happy exemption 
from those disturbing forces which perpetually affect 
the serenity of artists and literary men, and, indeed, 
of all who are dependent on the public taste either 
for subsistence or applause. The difficulties which 
the mathematician contends with are of a kind 
Avhich it is inspiring to encounter, and glorious to 
overcome ; he stands in calm reliance on his own 
powers ; no doubt or self-distrust oppresses him ; 
fully persuaded that his results are established by 
arguments that cannot be shaken, he knows that no 
light suggestion, no wanton ridicule, and not even 
the most bitter resistance, cart prevent their making 
their way ; and he submits them with comparative 
unconcern to the judgment of mankind. His pur- 
suits also furnish a subject of never-failing niter est, 
which always engages his thoughts, but is never 
painfully exciting ; and, as vacancy of mind occa- 
sions much of the restless irritability of life, the 
mathematician is thus spared the vexation of spirit 
which troubles other men. In days of heaviness and 
sorrow, he can more readily turn from his grief in 
this peaceful direction than in any other ; so that 
whoever gives himself in good faith to these studies 
has certainly chosen a good part, so far as happiness 
is concerned. But there is no Arcadia in this lower 
world. Men of science, like the men of Loo Choo, 
will be found, if examined nearly, to have their jeal- 
ousies and wars ; their swords are not yet beaten 
into ploughshares ; for some sort of controversy with 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 285 

pens or swords seems inseparable from human iia- 
tm-e. Even the rehgious penitent, as soon as he has 
professed himself a follower of the Prince of Peace, 
will fasten tooth and nail upon his neighbor for be- 
lieving a little more or less than he. 

D'Alembert made his first appearance in the world 
as a foundling, exposed by his mother in a winter 
night, but rescued, when almost dead, by the huma- 
nity of strangers. His father Avas M. Destouches, a 
poet and commissary of artillery, who soon came 
forward, and made provision for his support. His 
mother was Madame de Tencin, so well known to 
the readers of Marmontel, who represents her as the 
witty and accomphshed centre of a brilliant circle. 
When he afterwards became distinguished, she was 
desirous to have him come and live with her, and be 
acknowledged as her son, which would not have 
injured her reputation in the Paris of that day. But 
he declined the honor, having already had enough 
of her maternal affection ; and for forty years he lived 
in the cottage of the poor woman who had rescued 
him from the fate which his mother's love assigned 
him. When his health compelled him to leave those 
humble lodgings, he continued to supply her wants 
from his own narrow income till she died. His 
whole conduct in that relation was humane, affec- 
tionate, and honorable in the highest degree. 

At the age of twelve, he was sent to a Jansenist 
college, where his early promise was discovered, and 
attempts were made to enlist his feelings in the feud 
between his instructors and the Jesuits. They hoped, 
doubtless, that another Pascal would rise up to throw 



286 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 



the great weight of his character and talents on their 
side. But D'Alembert, though he went so far as to 
write a commentary on the Epistle to the Romans, 
was too much engaged by what the pious fathers 
called, in Fenelon's case, " the devilish attractions 
of geometry." When he left them, he devoted him- 
self entirely to those studies. In order to increase 
his small income, he made some attempts to study a 
profession ; but, in Avhatever direction he forced his 
mind, it was always springing back, like the bended 
bow, to his favorite pursuits. In this he Avas not 
encouraged certainly by his good old nurse, who 
used to say to him in sorrow, " Oh ! you will never 
be any thing more than a philosopher. And what is 
a philosopher ? — a foolish body, who wearies his 
life out to be talked of after he is dead." But he 
found his studies a great source of satisfaction, apart 
from any such vision of posthumous renown. He 
awoke, he says, every morning, with a feeling of 
gladness in his heart, as he thought of the investiga- 
tion in which he was employed the day before, and 
Avhich he was again to pursue. In the evening, he 
sometimes went to the theatre ; but, when there, what 
he enjoyed most was thinking of the next day's la- 
bors. Though he was a philosopher, without ques- 
tion, according to the original sense of the word, 
there was nothing which gave him less concern than 
the manner in which he should be talked of, either 
living or dead. 

Talked of, however, he was destined to be. A 
paper which he offered to the Academy of Sciences 
attracted their favorable attention ; and, in 1741, he 



MEi\ OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 287 

was admitted a member, at the age of twenty-four, 
younger than any other who had received that honor, 
except the celebrated Clairaut. Two years after, 
D'Alembert justified this high comphment by his 
" Traite de Dynamique," Avhich at once estabhshed 
his reputation. For some years he was engaged in 
following out his principles in their various and 
extensive applications, till, in 1752, he published an 
essay on a new theory of the resistance of fluids, 
which was the subject that principally engaged his 
attention for many years. Meantime, by Avay of 
interlude, he had submitted a memoir on the general 
theory of the winds, which was crowned by the 
Royal Academy of Berlin. As his fame extended, 
his enjoyment of life was less secure ; this being one 
of the severe penalties which men pay for renown. 
He became somewhat jealous of every invasion of 
his rights and honors, to Avhich he had been rather 
indifferent before. Lord Brougham accounts for 
these feelings, which Avere not according to his habits 
or his nature, by ascribing them to the influence of 
the literary factions and social parties with which he 
had become connected, as an Encyclopedist, with 
Diderot, Holbach, and Voltane, to whom repose of 
spirit was as much unknown as peace to the wicked ; 
but a more general explanation of it may be found 
in the general tendencies of human nature. Men be- 
come avaricious of praise as readily as of money ; and 
as one who comes across our promising speculation 
in business is regarded with feelings not entirely be- 
nignant, our charities wax cold toward those who in- 
terfere with the ingathering of our harvest of applause. 



288 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 

It would have been well for D'Alembert, if nothing 
had ever drawn him out from the circle in "which he 
moved in his earlier days ; for, up to the age cf thirty- 
five, his wants were few, his enjoyments simple, his 
spirit unruffled, and his renown as a man of science 
fast extending. But, v/hen the famous " Encyclo- 
paedia" was established, he became joint-editor with 
Diderot, and supplied many of the most striking 
portions. His preliminary discourse on the distribu- 
tion and progress of the sciences was greatly admired 
in its time ; but Lord Brougham regards it with 
little favor. Still, the severity of his censure is rather 
disarmed by the admission, that Bacon had fallen 
into the same errors before. When the work to 
which this discourse was an introduction appeared, 
the church and the government were filled with mu- 
tual alarm. The great body of literary men grew 
jealous of those who thus threatened to eclipse them ; 
the fashionable circles, which exert so much influence 
in Paris, took sides in the matter ; and it seemed as 
if tEoIus had let loose the winds to fan the flame 
which threatened to consume the wights whose free- 
dom of speech, or rather whose known opinions, had 
kindled it. There are some who melt away under 
the influence of this kind of heat ; others, on the 
contrary, are hardened into petrifactions ; but, as 
D'Alembert was not of this hardy sort, and was 
disgusted in the extreme with the new state of things, 
he took occasion, when the government prohibited 
the work in France, to withdraw from the editorial 
charge ; leaving it in the hands of Diderot, who better 
loved the sweet music of angry speech, and was 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 289 

perfectly willing to finish his rough journey alone. 
Having his attention thus directed to literature, 
D'Alembert wrote several works on various sub- 
jects, one of which, " On the Intercourse of Literary 
Men with the Great," had the effect to change the 
style in which works were dedicated, which, both in 
France and England, till a late period, instead of 
being offered with manly independence, were sub- 
mitted in the tone in which the veteran beggar 
acknowledges the donation of sixpence, — praying 
immortal blessings upon the Samaritan's head. 

In 1752, the king of Prussia invited him to reside 
in Berlin, with liberal appointments and a salary of 
five hundred pounds a year ; which offer D'Alembert 
declined, though his income was but about seventy 
pounds. His determination was to keep his indepen- 
dence and freedom, and his moderation was worthy of 
praise ; though it should be stated that Frederic's 
promises to pay were at a considerable discount, 
particularly with those victims who had once tasted 
his bounty, and could not be hired to expose them- 
selves to the same blessing again. He received, 
some years after, a more tempting proposal from 
Catherine of Russia, to undertake the education of 
her son, with a salary of four thousand pounds. The 
profligate old woman was willing to pay liberally for 
the instruction of her boy. But, whether he foresaw 
the impediments in the way of educating a young 
emperor without brains, where the teacher might be 
expected to do what nature had found beyond her, 
or whether he was too much attached to the social 
atmosphere of Paris to be willing on any terras lo 
2o 



290 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 

leave it, he wisely determined to be his own master ; 
that service, unlike the other, being one which he 
could renounce at will. 

His attachment to Mademoiselle de I'Espinasse is 
a curious passage in his history. She was a young 
person of romantic character and brilliant talents, 
who lived with Madame du Deffand, as a compan- 
ion, with a salary of next to nothing a year ; in 
consideration of which, she was to bear the intoler- 
able temper of her patroness, and to read her to 
sleep in the morning ; for she rose when the sun set, 
and went to sleep when he rose, so that the two 
luminaries were seldom seen above the horizon to- 
gether. The attendant found but one comfort in her 
life, which was to receive D'Alembert and one or 
two other friends, before the old lady appeared in the 
eastern sky. Unhappily the patroness discovered the 
proceeding, and, falling into a passion with her morn- 
ing star, dismissed it from her heaven. The young 
lady's friends procured her a residence and a small 
pension ; and, D'Alembert having been taken dan- 
gerously sick, she nursed him with the greatest kind- 
ness and care. As they were thus thrown together, 
he continued to reside with her through the twelve 
remaining years of her life. She, being susceptible in 
her disposition, was meantime sending her affections 
abroad : she forced them, so it would seem, at the 
same time on Guibert, a French officer, and Mora, a 
young Spanish grandee. But though she had thus 
two, if not three, strings to her bow, she was put 
out of tune by the failure of one ; for, on the death 
of Mora, she took his loss so much to heart that 



MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIElSTCE, ART. II. 291 

she began to decline, and two years after she died. 
Now, D'Alembert had gone regularly every morning 
to the }30st-office to get her letters from the young 
Spaniard. At her instigation, he had obtained from a 
celebrated French physician a medical opinion that 
the air of Paris was good for him, in order that his 
relations might consent to his return to France, from 
which they had recalled him ; but, after her decease, 
Ave find him bitterly complaining of his discovering 
that her affections were not his own, and asking, 
with some simplicity, what security he could have 
for believing that she had ever loved him. His un- 
certainty was a distress, no doubt ; but it resembled 
that of another unfortunate hypochondriac, who, 
waking one morning with a grievous colic, said that 
" it was just as like as not that he had had it all 
night," a reflection which added tenfold to the bitter- 
ness of his woe. 

Lord Brougham so much laments the desertion of 
D'Alembert from science, that he is not inclined to 
allow him much merit in his literary career. He 
says that he came to it without the right preparation ; 
not rich in classical attainments, nor indeed in any 
kind of learning; unacquainted with the principles 
of criticism, and deficient also in correctness and 
simplicity of taste. But his style was eminently 
simple ; and, as the style is an expression of the 
character of the mind, it can hardly be that he was 
viciously defective in those respects, though he may 
have been misled by partiality or prejudice in some 
of his literary opinions. But the great difficulty with 
him was his excessive admiration of Voltaire ; a man 



292 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 

SO distinguished by his variety of talent, that it was 
impossible he should excel in all. It was bad 
enough in him to place Corneille and Racine far 
below the footstool of Voltaire ; but so far did he 
carry his reverence, that he appears to have been 
more delighted with Voltaire's approbation of his 
mathematical works than that of seven men who 
were able to understand them. Such deference to 
such a genius was very apt to betray. 

In private life, D'Alembert appears to have been 
always amiable, and everywhere welcome. He 
came into society with the unconscious freedom of a 
child ; never oppressed by the weight of his reputa- 
tion, not concerned what impression he made, but 
always speaking from the overflow of his mind and 
the dictation of his heart. There never was a trace 
of reserve, suspicion, or pride about him : sometimes 
he was gently satii*ical, but never bitter. He entered 
with all his heart into the enjoyment of the hour ; 
and, like every such person, exerted a sunny in- 
fluence round him, keeping all in good-humor with 
him and with themselves. But he had other recom- 
mendations of a higher order. As soon as his in- 
come rose above poverty, half of it was spent in acts 
of charity and kindness ; and in every way in his 
power he served those who needed or deserved his 
aid. To aristocratic influence he did not pay much 
regard, but merit was sure of his respect. Thus, 
the celebrated Laplace, Avhen a young man, came to 
Paris, bringing letters to him from divers magnates 
in his native city. Finding that these were not at- 
tended to, the young student wrote him a letter on 



MEN OP LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. 11. 293 

the principles of mechanics, which received imme- 
diate attention, and in the course of the week ob- 
tained for him a professorship in the miUtary school. 

This great man died at the age of sixty-seven ; 
and after his death it was discovered that his sympa- 
thies on the subject of religion had taken the side of 
unbelievers. While he lived, he had avoided the 
subject, and never wrote any thing in reference to it 
which could give offence or pain ; but, in communi- 
cating with Frederic and Voltaire, their selfish and 
sneering natures appear to have overborne the mo- 
deration and kindness of his own. As for Frederic, 
it is some comfort to think that he was not a Chris- 
tian, since Christianity cannot be made responsible 
for the stony hardness of his heart ; and even Vol- 
taire, though there was much of a redeeming nature 
about him, was a sort of person whom Christianity 
might be well content to disown. But it is unfortu- 
nate that D'Alembert, with his kind heart and genial 
nature, should have mistaken the Christianity of 
Christians for that of the gospel, and thus have 
rejected a religion which he was never fortunate 
enough to know. And yet, as Lord Brougham sug- 
gests, there is great excuse for those who formed 
their impressions of the religion of Jesus from what 
they saw in the church ; it was no wonder that their 
minds and hearts rose up against it : but, had they 
endeavored to inform themselves on the subject, they 
would have seen that the sentence which the gospel 
pronounced against it was even severer than theirs. 

We need say no more of these portraits, which 
are painted with a bold and confident, but of course 
25* 



294 MEN OF LETTERS AND SCIENCE, ART. II. 

an able hand. They are instructive and entertaining ; 
and the sooner the rest follow, the more welcome 
they will be. Considering his lordship's mathematical 
tastes and talent, it might have been Avell to have 
devoted himself exclusively to men of science ; yet 
few will be inclined to complain that his range was 
more extended. 



295 



ADDISON. 



The Life of Joseph Addison. By Lucy Aikin. Philadelphia : 
Carey and Hart, 1846; 12mo, pp. 279. 

We had not ventured to promise ourselves an op- 
portunity of bringing this great man in review before 
us ; and we are not without misgivings lest the 
world, which, like poor Lear, is apt to be somewhat 
disordered in mind, should ask, as he did, which is 
the justice and which the culprit. But we are grate- 
ful to Miss Aikin for writing this unpretending life 
of Addison, and, still more so, for doing it in her 
quiet and sensible manner ; contenting herself with 
a likeness, and not trying to make it fascinating 
with paint and gilding, after the fashion of the pres- 
ent day. Indeed, there is hardly a subject in the 
whole range of literature, where affectation and dis- 
play would be more out of place. Those attractive 
arts which snatch at impossible graces, sacrificing 
truth to effect, and simple nature to quick impression, 
would be reproved to silence, if not to shame, by the 
presence of this great master. The very thought of 
such treatment is enough to make one wish he were 
on earth again, exerting the authority which a power- 
ful, refined, and graceful genius like his would have, 



296 ADDISON. 

wherever it existed. It would be a sport to see how 
many popular authors, who are read and admired 
by thousands now, would, like the swine in Scrip- 
ture, which they resemble in coarseness and the spirit 
that has entered into them, soon be seen running 
violently down a steep place to perish in the sea of 
oblivion, — those blessed waters which, it is to be 
hoped, will never dry away. 

There is something in the literary fame of this 
writer which it is always refreshing to remember. 
Like the Parthenon, it retains its charm, though for 
ages unvisited by the traveller, laid waste by the 
barbarian, and weather-stained by time ; so far trans- 
cending the adventurous antics of modern art, that, 
as long as a fragment of pillar or peristyle remains, 
it will be impossible to doubt the perfection of that 
which the world of taste adores. Writing always 
from a full mind, and never for the sake of writing, 
he is always rich to overflowing in his resources ; 
and, however excellent the work may be, gives the 
impression that he is able to produce something 
better. His memory was full of information ; all 
the particulars of which had found their places in his 
mind in harmony and order, so that classical allu- 
sions and suggestions from what he had seen and 
read presented themselves when they were wanted, 
giving him power to select the best. Like most 
other calm and quiet observers of life, he found in 
his own experience incidents and intimations which, 
playfully introduced, gave spirit and life to his writ- 
ings. His movements were so easy and graceful, 
that no one thought of the hard study and self-dis- 



ADDISON. 297 

cipline by which alone he could have gained so com- 
plete a mastery of his own powers. Every thing 
seemed to be thrown off without an effort, and so 
indeed it was ; the effort came earlier in the history 
of his mind ; and certain it is, that, without long and 
patient thought, such as requires great concentration 
of the intellectual powers, he never could have ac- 
quired a logical exactness so entirely free from all 
the appearance of art, nor a habit of active and 
earnest thought so much resembling revery in the 
familiarity and carelessness of its flow. 

One of the most striking traits of Addison's mind 
was his humor, a quality of writing which is enjoyed 
more generally than it is understood. It is commonly 
supposed to be a gift, something belonging to the 
native constitution of the mind ; but, if so, the birth- 
right would be found of little advantage, without that 
ready tact and intuitive discernment of the right time 
and place, which give humor its principal charm. 
The untimely jest is like the stamp of an awkward 
man upon a gouty toe : it is apt to be received with 
a gratitude bordering on profaneness, and it is a cau- 
tion to all the prudent to keep out of the way of the 
offender's disastrous evolutions. Some, like Swift, 
who would otherwise be masters of the art, disarm 
themselves of part of their power by an appearance 
of ill-nature. Any thing which looks like savage- 
ness, or an intent to wound, always creates antipathy 
to him who indulges his satirical propensity at the 
expense of another's feelings. Even if the satire 
should be wholly impersonal, and aimed at the follies 
and infirmities of human nature, the caustic and bit- 



298 ADDISON. 

ing reflection which implies bitterness in him who 
makes it never gives pleasure, nor finds a general 
welcome. 

There is also, in some humorous writers Avho have 
nothing of this misanthropy, a kind of sly coarseness, 
an apparent enjoyment of sensual allusions, a dispo- 
sition to tread as near . as they dare to such for- 
bidden ground, which the refined and cultivated 
reader takes as an insult to himself, and does not 
readily forgive. This is a temptation, a strange and 
fatal one, from which, we are sorry to say, a writer 
of our OAvn land, whom we could otherwise name 
with the highest honor, is not entirely free. But in 
Addison's humor no one can trace any of these faults 
of taste, spirit, or feeling. It plays like sunbeams 
through the broken clouds upon the landscape, light- 
ing it up with gladness. Nature herself is not more 
exempt from severity and grossness ; and we see 
that, largely gifted as he was with the natural power, 
he rather restrains than indulges it : he never looks 
abroad for the jest, and receives with selection those 
which present themselves while he is writing. He 
always distinguishes most accurately the appropriate 
place and time for producing it ; thus showing that 
it requires high cultivation of mind, a quick percep- 
tion of fitness, and a perfect command of the powers, 
to employ this faculty to advantage. Otherwise, it 
is of no value, and may be even an injury to the pos- 
sessor ; as the gift of Tell's arrows would be of little 
avail without the sure hand and eye to use them. 

Nothing could be more superfluous than to praise 
the style of Addison, which has been admired by sue- 



ADDISON. 299 

cessive generations as the most perfect of all exam- 
ples. Art, in its highest cultivation, comes back to 
nature ; and thus, while naturalness is the prevailing 
charm of his manner, it shows the result, but not the 
action, of high finish and industrious care. The word 
gentlemanly would describe it better than any other, 
because it implies the union of elegance and refine- 
ment with energy and power. In order to be thus 
natural, style must be the true expression of the hab- 
itual movements of the mind ; it is not to be made 
up or put on at pleasure ; if it is second-hand, it will 
betray its unlawful origin, like stolen garments which 
do not fit the wearer. The only way really to im- 
prove a deficient style is, not to change the arrange- 
ment and selection of language ; the care in such 
cases must be applied directly to the mind itself; and 
its utterance will become free and graceful in propor- 
tion to the order which it establishes among its trea- 
sures and resources, and the easy mastery over its 
own powers which practice enables it to obtain. 

We say this, because style is often spoken of as if 
it was an art, like drawing or painting, which may 
be acquired by one mind as well as another, by the 
obscure and feeble as well as the clear and strong. 
So, in point of fact, the matter is treated by many 
writers ; those, for example, who have endeavored 
to Germanize their manner. But the style is not 
their own : they are responsible, doubtless, as a man 
is held to answer for what he borrows or steals ; but 
it gives no indication of their natural tone of thought, 
any more than a bell, when it tolls for funeral or 
worship, expresses its own sorrow or devotion. 



300 ADDISON. 

Should their minds perchance speak out, they would 
throw all the fine arrangement into confusion, and 
startle their owners, perhaps, by the plain English 
which they Avould employ. We may depend upon 
it, that Carlyle does not talk Carlylism, nor do the 
imitators of that eminent person walk in darkness 
through a conversation as coolly as through a printed 
page. When their object is to express their thought, 
none can do it better ; and till they do the same thing 
in writing as freely as in ordinary communication 
with their friends, they may be cheered on with the 
desperate admiration of a misguided few, but they 
will find themselves out in their dead-reckoning. If 
they are bound for immortality, or even for general 
favor, they had better take observations of the great 
lights of the literary world. From these they will 
find, that no style can be extensively popular and 
pleasing Avhich is not a true and direct expression of 
the writer's way of thinking. It is not enslaved to 
any particular form ; it is bound by no narrow and 
rigid law. The elephantine march of Johnson may 
be as welcome as the manly gait of Addison, because 
it represents as truly the movements of his ponderous 
and gigantic mind. 

But the character of this distinguished man is a 
more important consideration than his talents or his 
style : indeed it was this which, shining through his 
writings, did as much as his ability to give him in- 
fluence in his own time, and an illustrious memory in 
ours. John Foster, who, with all his excellence, occa- 
sionally betrayed something of that crustiness which 
among some sects passes for a Christian grace, spoke 



ADDISON. 3|li 

ill a wholesale and sweeping way of all the chief 
names in English literature, as opposed to the spirit 
of the gospel, and aiding and comforting the enemy 
by their influence and example. To some extent, 
this was true. There was quite too little sense of 
responsibility associated with intellectual power : 
either the intense effort to keep body and soul toge- 
ther made them careless in what manner they fed 
the popular taste, or the jealousies incident to their 
profession destroyed their conscience and kindness ; 
or in some instances, perhaps, their heads were 
turned by success. Whatever the cause may have 
been, a greater proportion than one could have sup- 
posed were unfaithful to the high trust Avhich is con- 
fided to all who are gifted with high powers. Still, 
it is extraordinary that with such an example as 
Addison before him, one which can be contemplated 
with almost unmingled satisfaction, any moralist 
should give so hasty a verdict, which savors more of 
passion than truth even in its application to others, 
and cannot be sustained for a moment with respect 
to him. If religion be the great science of duty, it 
would be hard to shoAV where it ever found a more 
effective teacher ; and we trust we shall be able to 
make it appear, that, if his tone and profession were 
high, his life and conversation stood ready to make 
them good. 

But here we are met by some prevailing impres- 
sions concerning Addison, which allow^ that in most 
respects he was eminently worthy, but nevertheless 
charge him Avith certain faults and frailties which 
throw a shadow over his name ; and, as the subject 
26 



3C^ ADDISON. 

is an interesting chapter in literary history, we pro- 
pose to consider it somewhat at large. All who 
knew him bore witness to his excellence : his good- 
ness of heart and strength of principle appear in 
every part of his life. His freedom from ambition 
is clearly shown by his writing, for the most part, 
without giving his name to the world ; and his gen- 
erous kindness could hardly be proved more conclu- 
sively than by his submitting to this labor to serve 
another. And yet, strange as it may seem, it is in 
these very points that some have assailed him, accus- 
ing him of jealous hostility to rising men of genius, 
and of selfish unkindness to his friends. Such traits 
of character are not very consistent with that reli- 
gious virtue which he is so generally admitted to 
have possessed, that, as Bos well assures us, Johnson, 
who, from pohtical prejudice, was no friend to his 
memory, was in the habit of recommending his writ- 
ings to those who felt the need of high influence and 
inspiration, and often spoke of him with great re- 
spect, as foremost among the wise and good. 

All these impressions to the disadvantage of Addi- 
son can be traced home to the authority of Pope, 
who, though in some respects a good man, was noto- 
riously jealous of his own literary standing, and, as 
he had no mercy for those who were beneath, was 
not likely to look with much benignity on one who 
stood above him. His infirmity was not without its 
excuses : his personal deformity was of a kind which 
sours the temper ; his nervous temperament was irrit- 
able to the last degree ; and, while his poetical talent 
made him a subject of interest and admiration, his 



ADDISON. 303 

bodily weakness prevented his appearing familiarly 
in the public eye. In his partial retirement, he was 
surrounded by parasites of that kind who manifest 
their faithfulness, not by friendly services, but by flat- 
tering unworthy prejudices and passions, and, in case 
of any alienation, are like the firemen of Constanti- 
nople, who, it is said, for reasons of their own, some- 
times throw oil on the flames of a conflagration, 
which has less effect to extinguish them than the ele- 
ment that is commonly employed. 

Spence's " Anecdotes," which Johnson used so 
freely in writing his " Lives of the Poets," contains 
a rich abundance of this kind of lore. Pope appears 
to have made his humble friend the residuary legatee 
of all his suspicions and aversions ; and as Johnson 
lived at a time when party spirit was at the highest, 
and did not conceal his belief that to be a " vile 
Whig " was an inexpiable sin, he gave more faith to 
the stories and intimations of the " Anecdotes " than 
he would have done, if Addison had had the pre- 
sumptive evidence of Toryism in his favor ; and, as 
his life of the Whig statesman and poet has of course 
displaced all others, the character Avhich he has given 
him determines the opinion of the present age. But 
there was nothing underhand in the prejudice of 
Johnson : it was always manly, aboveboard, and 
made no pretension to thorough impartiality. Such 
was his stern veracity, that nothing Avould induce 
him to distort or suppress the truth, or rather what 
he considered the truth, though he was often misled 
by his feelings in his attempts to ascertain it. On 
several occasions, as we shall see, he detects Sf)ence's 



304 ADDISON. 

misrepresentalions, and ascribes them to the nialig'- 
niiy of Pope. The wonder is, that, when he saw 
through some of these mistakes or perversions of 
fact, whichever they may have been, he should have 
felt as if such a guide could ever be safely trusted ; 
for trust him he did, too much and too far : almost 
every thing which he has recorded to the disadvan- 
tage of Addison rests on Spence's authority alone. 
We do not suppose, that Pope told his humble chro- 
nicler what he did not himself believe : the term 
malignity, which Johnson employs, must be received 
with some discount for his habitual choice of over- 
grown words. The amount of this malice was, that, 
being jealous of Addison as a rival, he was ready to 
credit and repeat whatever was said to his disadvan- 
tage ; and those persons who think it a pity to spoil 
a pretty quarrel were always at hand to minister to 
the prejudice which Pope, unfortunately for his hap- 
piness and honor) was too Avell disposed to feel. 

Very little is known of Addison's early hfe, nor 
can it now be ascertained how far the influences 
which acted upon him in childhood determined his 
character in later years : sometimes those influences 
form young minds by sympathy, sometimes by re- 
action and resistance. His father Avas a divine, 
respectable in his way, but earnest and busy in those 
times which made all men politicians. Active, how- 
ever, as he was in his devotion to church and king, 
he lived in comparative want, and was rewarded 
only by coming in sight of a bishopric before he 
died. One story of Addison's younger days repre- 
sents him as escaping from school, to avoid sorhe 



ADDISON. 305 

punishment which weighed on his imagination, and 
living on such food as the w^oods supplied, till his 
retreat was discovered. Dr. Johnson records a tra- 
dition of his once being ringleader in a " barring 
out." The two legends seem inconsistent with each 
other, and yet they may both be true. The former 
does not show, as Miss Aikin believes, the elements 
of that bashful spirit which afflicted him so much 
in his manhood. The fact is, that all boys grow 
retu-ing in their manner, when they are threatened 
with a whipping ; and, though it is not always the 
case, as Goldsmith says, that your modest people 
are the most impudent in the world, it is true that 
many are bold and free with their associates, who 
are subdued in the presence of others. 

Addison was never able, through a life spent in 
the daylight of the world, to throw off that embar- 
rassment which paralyzed the action of his mind in 
company, and made him appear distant, cold, and 
still. Chesterfield, in whose presence he was not 
likely to thaw, described him as an awkward man, 
while those whose company he enjoyed received a 
very different impression of his manners and social 
powers. Swift, who was not apt to err by excess of 
praise, said that he never saw a man half so agreea- 
ble. Lady Mary Montague, who had a tolerable 
acquaintance Avith society, described him as the best 
company in the world. Pope, who, in his very 
eulogy, shows something of pique, allows that his 
company was more charming than that of any other 
man, though with strangers he preserved his dignity 
by a stiff silence ; thus ascribing to hauteur that cold- 

26* 



306 ADDISON. 

ness which was evidently owing to natural diffidence 
and reserve. Dr. Young says, that he was rather 
mute on some occasions ; but, Avhen he felt at ease, 
he went on in a noble strain of thought and lan- 
guage, which enchained the attention of all. 

There are many such testimonials to the richness 
and variety of his conversation ; and, if any received 
a different impression, it is plainly OAving to the 
constitutional, or rather English, reserve which hung 
like a mill-stone about him all his days. It is thought 
to be less common in our country : here, old and 
young, the latter especially, have in general quite as 
much confidence as the case requires. Still, there are 
examples of those who labor and suffer under this 
disease, which renders them in company " afraid to 
sit, afraid to fly ; " unable to say the right thing, and, 
if they say any thing, sure to say the Avrong ; but 
generally so oppressed Avith the necessity of speak- 
ing, that, through fear of being silent, they dare not 
open their lips, and causing epicures in conversation 
to say, that, however much they might like the oys- 
ter if accessible, they cannot submit to the trouble of 
opening the shell. 

It was while at school that Addison formed that 
friendship with Steele which gave so decided a direc- 
tion to his future life. Steele, who, though his 
parents were English, contrived to be born in Dub- 
lin, as the appropriate birthplace for one of such an 
Irish nature, was, as the world knows full well, a 
thoughtless, inconsistent, rantipole person, full of tal- 
ent and good feeling, which were made of small 
effect by his total Avant of discretion in common 



ADDISON. 307 

affairs. If it was possible for him to get into diffi- 
culty, he was sure to improve the chance ; but, at 
the same time, so amiable was his disposition, that 
he always found friends, who, though out of patience 
with his folly, were ready to get him out of the scrape. 
Early in life, being sensible of his own frailty, he 
endeavored to put himself under the necessity of 
living religiously, by writing a book called " The 
Christian Hero ; " but, as there was no basis of prin- 
ciple, nor even taste, under his conversion, the incon- 
sistency Avhicli soon appeared between his life and 
his profession made it worse for him in every respect 
than if his banner had not been lifted quite so high. 
Then, to enliven himself under the depression brought 
on by ridicule and reproach, he wrote a comedy 
called " The Funeral," with which the public were 
entertained, as might be expected from so sprightly 
a subject, and which, of course, was in the same 
degree refreshing to the writer. 

A hterary life commencing thus would hardly be 
expected to lead to propitious results ; and he would 
have done nothing to establish his reputation as a 
^vriter, had it not been for his illustrious friend. It 
was not unnatural that the shy and delicate Addison 
should take a fancy to the bold and open-hearted 
Steele ; and the latter had sufficient discernment to 
understand the merits and abilities of his compan- 
ion. The attachment thus formed continued nearly 
through life ; and only the exasperation of political 
feeling, which spares nothing that is sacred, could 
have alienated them from each other ; for it is unfor- 
tunately true, that the bands were broken at last. 



308 ADDISON. 

Addison appears to have been originally destined 
for the church ; and his thoughtful and contemplative 
spirit might have found a home in the sacred pro- 
fession, where it is not, as in England, dependent on 
patronage, and therefore married to w^orldliness by 
law. For some reason now unknown, perhaps by 
unconsciously yielding to circumstances, he inclined 
to the paths of literature ; and, while yet at Oxford, 
he is found in communication with Tonson the book- 
seller, whose name is as familiar in the annals of the 
time as that of Monsieur Tonson at a later day. 
His essay on the " Georgics," which he affixed to the 
translation of Dryden, who appears to have been 
pleased and flattered by his attentions, was not con- 
sidered as promising much strength and originality, 
though its style was unexceptionable, and its criticism 
just. Of a translation of the fourth " Georgic," 
which he attempted, the elder poet courteously ob- 
served, that, after it, his own swarm would not be 
worth the hiving. He engaged also in a translation 
of Herodotus, to be superintended and partly exe- 
cuted by himself; which implies that he had more 
acquaintance with Greek than Johnson was disposed 
to allow. This work never reached the press ; but 
his translations from Ovid were published, with notes 
which eclipse the poetry, and, as the great critic ad- 
mitted, gave fall promise of that discriminating taste 
and talent which were afterwards so brightly mani- 
fested, and admired as widely as they were known. 
He also produced a work which, at a later period, 
he seemed very willing to suppress. It was an ac- 
count of English poets from Chaucer to Dryden, in 



ADDISON. 309 

which he treats the patriarch and his successor Spen- 
ser without the reverence which they so well deserve, 
and which is clamorously asserted for them by some, 
who, admiring without having read, are vengeful 
against those who have read without admirinaf. 

The truth was, that the French classical taste was 
then coming into England, teaching its poets to care 
rather more for polished elegance of language and 
measure than for the more substantial elements of 
truth and nature. The new fashion prevailed ; and, 
as usual, the fashion which it displaced was treated 
with unmerited scorn. In this way it is that the 
public taste is always swinging, like a pendulum, far 
on one side or the other. This fancy came to its 
height of finish and excellence in Pope ; another age 
has seen him, with all his beauty and power, treated 
with profane derision, while a passion for infantine 
simplicity rises and reigns for a time ; this, too, after 
keeping the stage for its permitted season, is destined 
to give place to some other excess. But sufficient 
to the day is its own evil : Avhat this excess is to be, 
we are not yet unfortunate enough to know. 

Addison, with no small share of talent for poetry, 
was of course under the influence of the day ; and, 
while his natural tendency Avas to nature, he was 
drawn aside by cultivation ; and thus, inclining one 
way while he walked in another, he could not be 
expected to reach the height of success. It is a little 
remarkable, that the effort which brought him at once 
into notice was made to order. Such productions 
generally have small attraction, except to those whose 
exploits they commemorate and flatter : if they betray 



310 ADDISON. 

any other inspiration than that of necessity or ambi- 
tion, their flame, like a fire of shavings, is soon spent, 
leaving no permanent brightness in the literary sky. 
His courtly career commenced with lines on the 
king's return from his European campaign in 1695, 
which gained him the favorable regard of Lord 
Somers, whose approbation was an honor. In 1697, 
he again sang the praise of William, who had no 
ear for such matters, in some lines on the Peace of 
Ryswick. These were addressed to Montagu, then 
a leading public character, eminent in literature as 
well as in the public councils. That statesman, in 
acknowledgment of the attention, procured him a 
grant of three hundred pounds a year, to give him 
the means of travelling ; a favor which would have 
been more to the purpose, had the money ever been 
paid ; but the king died soon after, and the little 
which he ever did for literature came at once to a 
close. 

The young poet also gained reputation by Latin 
verses on the peace. Johnson allows them to have 
been vigorous and elegant ; and when Addison went 
abroad, the volume, published with a preface of his 
own writing, served as an introduction to learned 
and accomplished men. Among others, he presented 
it to Boileau, then in the height of his fame. The 
Frenchman replied, that the work had given him a 
new idea of English cultivation ; and truly there was 
room for new ideas, if we may judge from his remark 
to a traveller who told him what honor the English 
had paid to the memory of Dryden. He said he 
was happy to learn it, but he had never heard the 



ADDISON. 311 

gentleman's name before. Alas for glorious John ! 
The truth was, the French at that time lorded it over 
the political and literary world like undisputed and 
rather supercilious masters. King William had done 
something to break their civil and military sceptre, 
and Marlborough was in a fair way to finish Avhat he 
had begun. But it Avas long before any literary 
changes let sufficient light into France to see the 
names of Shakspeare and Milton, so completely 
eclipsed were they by certain French luminaries, — 
lost pleiads, too, which have long since perished, and 
never been missed from the skies. 

Whatever Addison's timidity and reserve may 
have been in England, he appears to have left them 
behind him when he travelled ; for we find him mak- 
ing acquaintance with all those who were distin- 
guished in literature. He remarks, in one of his 
letters, that he had not seen a blush since he landed 
in France : probably it is with blushes as with other 
matters, that the supply is regulated by the demand. 
Being but imperfectly acquainted with the French 
.language, he took up his residence for a time at Blois, 
where it was thought to be spoken in great purity, in 
order to learn it. 

While preparing himself by the acquisition of mod- 
ern languages for his European tour, he Avas dili- 
gently studying the allusions of classical writers to 
Italy and its antiquities ; those being the subject of 
interest on which he had set his heart. His letters 
written at the time are short; but they have some 
touches of his peculiar manner, particularly one in 
which he congratulates a friend who tells him that 



312 ADDISON. 

he has lost ten pounds by a copy of verses. Addison 
assures him, that every time he meets with such a 
loss, the more like a true poet he will be. In the 
spelling of his letters, there is something Avhich would 
fill a phonographer with delight: the word "bin" 
always represents the preterite of the verb to be ; and 
there are sundry other graces of the kind, which 
show how little importance was then attached to 
what is now considered essential in a well-educated 
writer. 

On his second visit to Paris, he was able to enjoy 
the society in which it abounded ; and, if it seems 
strange, that, with his acknowledged reserve, he 
could ever make himself at home in it, we must 
remember that such persons are very much influ- 
enced by the prevailing social spirit. In England, 
such a man would need to be furnished with an 
ice-breaker to make his way in their arctic circles ; 
but where there is no reserve to meet reserve, but 
all are at their ease, a bashful man forgets himself, 
ceases to think of his own words and motions, and 
therefore is unconstrained and free. He was very 
much struck with the cheerfulness of the French, 
and the excellent terms with themselves on Avhich 
they all stood. Sometimes their self-exaltation was 
disagreeable to an Englishman, who of course had 
as good an opinion of his own country as they could 
possibly have of France ; but their familiar courtesy 
was always pleasing, and among their men of letters 
he found these v/hom he considered it a privilege to 
know. Among others, he visited Malebranche, who 
was much admired by the English. The French 



ADDISON. 313 

nation at the time had taken a religious turn, and 
apprehended that there might be something unchris- 
tian in speculations which they did not understand. 
Malebranche was therefore better acquainted with 
the great men of England than some others of his 
countrymen ; and, though he said nothing of glori- 
ous John, who was out of his line, he had heard of 
Newton, and also of Hobbes, at whom he shook his 
head. 

But Italy is the country in which such a traveller 
must feel most at home. He reached it in the usual 
way by the tour through Switzerland, where the 
scenery impressed him as it does all others. His 
indifference, amounting to contempt for the Gothic 
architecture, which appears in some passages of his 
work, has given an impression to the disadvantage 
of his taste. But this preference was of the conven- 
tional kind ; it was one in which he was educated ; 
it was not to be overcome by general cultivation, 
like a mistaken choice in literary works, nor had it 
any thing to do with that love of nature, which often 
is found mature and faultless in those who do not 
know one picture, statue, or building from another. 
While in France, he was agreeably struck with 
those places in which the French king, when improv- 
ing his palace-grounds, had followed the leading 
suggestions of nature, instead of forcing nature into 
the traces of art. We apprehend that he must have 
found but few such cases, and he valued them the 
more perhaps on account of their rarity ; for the 
landscape gardening of that day, which was im- 
ported from that country into England, seemed to 
27 



314 ADDISON. 

have for its leading principle to suppress nature, and 
to extinguish what it could not reform. 

But, while he found pleasure in contemplating 
these wonders and glories of the visible world, his 
active and searching mind made him a philosophical 
observer of men. He looks upon them with " most 
humorous sadness ; " sometimes smiling at follies and 
pretensions, often breathing a fine spirit of liberty, 
but always inspired with a love of his race. He was 
just the man to encounter the officer of the Prince of 
Monaco, whose dominions consisted of two towns. 
That official told him, with much solemnity, that his 
master and the king of France were faithful allies 
and friends. His most Christian majesty must have 
derived great solace from this assurance, when Marl- 
borough was thundering on his borders. The little 
republic of San Marino, which has existed through 
so many changes in Europe, is described with ad- 
mirable humor ; of that kind, however, which, with- 
out any violent transition, easily resumes the serious 
vein. It closes with a manly reflection on that natural 
love of liberty which fills its rocks and snows with 
inhabitants, while the Campagna is deserted ; show- 
ing the deep and universal feeling, that the chief 
blessing of moral existence is for men to feel that 
they are free. 

In his description of Rome, where he spent con- 
siderable time, the same fine spirit appears. Though 
he does not seem to have been an enthusiast in the 
arts, he was deeply interested in every thing con- 
nected Avith ancient literature ; and the remains of 
the Eternal City, eternal in its glory and influence, 



ADDISON. 315 

though sinking under the effects of malaria and time, 
had all of them some relation to those studies in which 
he was most deeply interested. His political feel- 
ing, if, indeed, it. does not deserve the higher name 
of humanity, is shown in the remark, that the gran- 
deur of the old commonwealth manifested itself in 
works of convenience or necessity, such as temples, 
highways, aqueducts, walks, and bridges ; while the 
magnificence of the city under the emperors dis- 
played itself in works of luxury or ostentation, such 
as amphitheatres, circuses, triumphal arches, pillars, 
and mausoleums. Miss Aikin suggests that he was 
the first Avho ever used the expression " classic 
ground," which is now as famiUar as the ground 
on which we tread. In his days, Rome was not 
visited, as it is now, by tourists from all parts of the 
world : the Englishman, having no social intercourse 
with the living, had ample time for intimacy with the 
mighty dead. Addison remarks that he had become 
an adept in ancient coins, while he had almost lost 
his acquaintance with English money. As to rust, 
he could tell the age of it at sight ; having been 
forced, by his total want of other society, to converse 
with pictures, statues, and medals, all of which had 
some story to tell of the interesting and memorable 
past. 

Swift, in a well-known allusion to Addison's cir- 
cumstances at this time, speaks of him as caressed 
by lords, and left distressed in foreign lands; which 
is true enough, so far as regards his circumstances, 
though the lords do not appear to deserve the 
reproach Avhich the dean, with his usual caustic 



316 ADDISON. 

philanthropy, endeavors to cast upon them. They 
faithfully served Addison, or rather meant to serve 
him, while they had the power : it was no fault of 
theirs that King William broke his neck, and the 
pension was left unpaid. Their ability to serve him 
depended on their continuance in office, and they 
would have been glad to retain the power, if possi- 
ble. They had already designated him for the office 
of English secretary, to attend Prince Eugene, who 
had just commenced the war in Italy, for the pur- 
pose of transmitting home accounts of his plans and 
operations. These designs in his favor, of course, 
came to nothing when they lost their places ; and he 
must certainly have been hard pressed for the means 
of subsistence. With his usual manly reserve on 
matters which were personal to himself, he says no- 
thing of his own wants or his means ; neither does 
Tickell, who had the means of knowing, supply the 
deficiency ; but the papers of Tonson show that he 
was looking round for that support Avhich patron- 
age was no longer able to supply. The bookseller, 
who was a sort of Maecenas in his way, had been 
desired by the Duke of Somerset, usually called the 
Proud, — one of those animals whom chance some- 
times appears to lift up to see how they will look in 
their elevation, — to find a travelling tutor for his 
son ; and it occurred to Tonson, in his good-nature, 
that the place would be the one for Addison. For 
the service thus rendered, the duke was to pay a 
hundred guineas at the end of the year ; which seemed 
to himself so munificent, that he expected the offer 
to be welcomed with rapture by the fortunate indi- 



ADDISON. 317 

vidual on whom the choice should fall. Addison had 
no objection to the place ; but he had no mind to 
worship the golden calf that offered it. He accord- 
ingly wrote an acceptance of the proposal, saying, at 
the same time, that the compensation was not such 
as would make it an object, if the place were not on 
other accounts such as he desired. This independ- 
ence was something so new to the nobleman, that he 
considered it equal to a rejection of his offer ; at any 
rate, he saw that it would not be received with the 
profound sense of obligation which he expected ; 
and thus he lost the opportunity of going down to 
future times in connection with one who would have 
taught his son the manners and feelings of a gentle- 
man, which the young sparks of aristocracy have not 
always the means of learning, and whose fame was 
bright enough to illuminate the insignificance of his 
own. 

The literary history of England affords many such 
examples of lords in rank who are commoners in 
spirit and feeling. It is well that the changes of time 
had transferred the office of patron of men of letters 
to publishers like Jacob Tonson and his successors. 
If all of them had manifested the sense and spirit of 
Addison, the traditional base of prejudice on Avhich 
the card-house of nobility rests must long since have 
given way to a better system, which would estimate 
claims to respect, not by the court-register nor the 
assessor's list, but by the elevation of manly and 
moral feeling, and the riches of the heart. 

When Addison returned to England, he was high 
in reputation ; but, as he was in his thirty-third year, 
27* 



318 ADDISON. 

without the means of subsistence, the respect which 
was paid him, and the honor of being a member of 
the Kitcat, did not quite console him for the prospect 
of starving. But his political party was rising ; the 
victories of Marlborough were quite as beneficial to 
the Whigs as to the country ; and, when the battle 
of Blenheim had thrown all others into the shade, 
Godolphui, turning his attention for once from New- 
market to Parnassus, was anxious to find some poet 
to sing the triumph in strains of equal glory. As the 
gentlemen of his acquaintance dealt in other steeds 
than Pegasus, he applied to Montagu, better known 
by his title of Halifax, who told him, with more truth 
than courtesy, that, if he knew such a person, he 
would not advise him to write while fools and block- 
heads were in favor, and those who had a good title 
lo distinction were neglected. The lord treasurer 
did not resent the insinuation, though exceeding 
broad, and simply promised that whoever would do 
the service worthily should have no reason to repent 
his labors. He then sent to Addison, at the sugges- 
tion of Halifax, who wisely thought that the poet 
would do more for himself than his friends could do 
for him. The work was undertaken at once ; and, 
when it had proceeded as far as the famous simile of 
the angel, Godolphin, on seeing it, gave him the 
place of commissioner of appeals, which fell vacant 
by the resignation of John Locke. 

There is something grotesque in this dealing in 
poetry as merchandise, and rewarding the bard with 
a post from which the great metaphysician had just 
departed. But, .vliat is more to the purpose, the 



ADDISON. 310 

poem was exactly what was wanted ; and it does 
credit to the public taste, that, with so small an infu- 
sion of thunder and lightning, without any approach 
to extravagance or excess, it should have found its 
way to the proud heart of England, and been deemed 
an adequate celebration of the greatest triumph of 
her arms. The truth was, the angel rode in the 
whirlwind and directed the storm to very good pur- 
pose ; at any rate, he contrived that they should fill 
the poet's sails, which were wisely and not ambitiously 
spread. Though it is not one of those works which 
readers of the present day care much for, still it is 
read, which is more than can be said of any other 
poem manufactured in the same way. They com- 
monly die with the momentary enthusiasm which 
called them into existence ; and the chief credit 
which the poet now gains is that of having kept 
clear of the faults and follies in which all similar 
writings abound. One good effect of it was to set 
the writer clear from debt. Slow rises talent, when 
poverty hangs upon it ; its flight is rather that of the 
flying-fish than the eagle ; and Marlborough did not 
more rejoice to see the enemy fly, than the poet to 
disperse his duns, and once more to stand even with 
the world. 

We have dwelt thus at large on the manner in 
which Addison came forward into public life, to 
show that he did not ascend, as Lord Bacon says 
men generally go up to office, by a " winding stair." 
It was owing to the prevailing impression of his 
ability, not only in literary efforts, but for the duties 
of any station. Two years after the publication of 



320 ADDISON. 

the " Campaign," he was appointed under-secretary 
of state by Sir Charles Hedges, and continued in 
that office by the Earl of Sunderland. The duties 
could not have been oppressive ; at least, he was 
able to accompany Lord Halifax to the Continent 
on a complimentary mission to the Elector, officiat- 
ing as secretary to the minister, and receiving from 
that Maecenas no other compensation or reward than 
the honor and expense of the tour. It is unfortunate 
that we have not more of his letters, which would 
give us entertaining glimpses of the pubhc events of 
the day, such as the union of England and Scotland, 
which was so bitterly opposed by many of the latter 
nation. He says that one of the ministers of Edin- 
burgh lamented in his prayer, that Providence, after 
having exalted England to be the head of Europe, 
was in a fair way to make it one of the tails : this was 
probably a correct expression of the gratitude with 
which the measure of annexation Avas received. 

One pleasant touch of the old Stuart feeling is 
brought to light, showing that Anne was not entirely 
passive, though she spent her days under the harrow 
of royalty, without the least power to do as she 
pleased. Something having passed in the lower 
house of convocation tending to reduce her authority 
as head of the church, she sent word to them that 
she forgave them for that time, but would make use 
of some other methods with them in case they did 
the like in future. He alludes to an odd premonition 
of the revolutionary spirit in France, in an age when 
no one dreamed of any such thing. It was a pro- 
posal conveyed in a memorial, through the Duke 



ADDISON. 

of Burgundy, to the government, advising them to 
get possession of the useless plate in convents and 
palaces, and to convert it into money ; and, more- 
over, to take the needless officers and pensionaries, 
the number of whom was estimated at eighty thou- 
sand, and to employ them in the foreign service of 
the country. The latter part of this plan might 
answer for other nations, even for some in which the 
grand consummation of republicanism is already 
come. The only difficulties are, that the gentlemen 
in question, having the management of every thing, 
would choose to render this patriotic service by 
proxy : their part is to gather to the carcass when it 
is fallen, leaving others to pull it down. 

Addison was not long to retain this office, which 
was well suited to his capacity and taste. The queen, 
who was occasionally persuaded to make changes, to 
show the world that she had a will of her own, — a 
fact which, notwithstanding her sex, Avas seriously 
doubted, — had begun to take the Tories into favor 
and council, and was preparing, as fast as she dared, 
to remove Marlborough from his brilliant station. 
Meantime, Addison was employed in an attempt to 
introduce an English opera to public favor in Lon- 
don. It seemed to him ridiculous for audiences to 
sit by the hour listening to a language which neither 
singer nor hearer understood. His plan Avas to 
marry the Italian music to English verse; Avithout 
reflecting, that, as nature had denied him an ear, he 
Avas not the person to officiate at the bridal, and that 
common-sense is not exactly the presiding genius by 
which such matters are controlled. Johnson says, 



322 ADDISON. 

that on the stage the new opera was either hissed or 
neglected, and growls at the author for dedicating it, 
when published, to the Duchess of Marlborough, a 
woman wholly without pretensions to literature or 
taste ; not reflecting, that, if poets had been so fas- 
tidious in looking for patrons, they would have been 
at their wits' end where to find them. 

The raorahst is, however, compelled by his sense 
of justice to allow that the work is airy and elegant, 
engaging in its progress and pleasing in its close. He 
says that the subject is Avell chosen, the fiction plea- 
sant, and the praise of Marlborough in it is the result 
of good-luck, improved by genius, as perhaps every 
work of excellence must be. Sir John Hawkins, 
who pretended to great connoisseurship in music, 
and must at least have been a perfect judge of a dis- 
cord, having passed all his life in one, pronounced 
the music of " Rosamond," which was the name of 
the opera, " a jargon of sounds." This, however, 
was the fault of the composer, or possibly might be 
attributed to the crabbed temper of the amateur ; 
and, when Johnson pronounced the opera one of the 
best of A.ddison's compositions, it is clear that it could 
not have injured his fame. One good effect of it was 
to bring him into acquaintance with Tickell, then at 
Oxford, who, according to the fashion of the time, 
sent him some complimentary verses. He soon be- 
came the friend and associate of Addison, both in his 
literary and public labors, and always proved himself 
able, faithful, and honorable in every trust confided to 
his hands. The only complaint the world has to make 
of him is, that he has told so few particulars respect- 



ADDISON. 323 

ing the life of Addison : this shows that Boswells, 
though their price in the market is not high, are 
beings of no small value ; and that the literary world 
would consult its own interest by making it a rule to 
encourage the multiplication of the race, rather than 
to ridicule and abuse them. 

One of the last favors of the Whig administration 
was to give Addison the place of secretary to the 
lord-lieutenant of Ireland, who was then the Marquis 
of Wharton. At a later period, he visited the same 
country again, as secretary to Sunderland, who, after 
a fashion more common in church than state, did 
not trouble himself to cross the Channel in the dis- 
charge of his official duty. Johnson expresses won- 
der, that Addison should have connected himself 
with a person so impious, profligate, and shameless 
as Wharton, when his own character was, in these 
respects, precisely the reverse of the other's. He 
appears to have mistaken the father for the duke, his 
son, who was so notorious in connection with the 
Jacobite party. The elder was no saint certainly ; 
but his character was light, compared to the utter 
darkness of his son's. Archbishop King, a very high 
authority, says that he had known Wharton forty 
years, and ahvays considered him a true patriot, and 
one who had his country's interest at heart ; no small 
praise for a statesman in any age, and one which, in 
that season of all corruption, it was a special honor 
to deserve ; so that Addison's connection with him 
was not that confederacy with sin which the great 
critic seems to have apprehended. 

The conduct of the secretary, in both these mis- 



324 ADDISON. 

sions, commanded respect, and gave general satisfac- 
tion. But here, again, Johnson seems to intimate 
that he was rather avaricious in his ways. He tells 
us, on Swift's authority, that the secretary never 
remitted his fees of office in favor of his friends, giv- 
ing as a reason, that, if it was done in a hundred 
instances, it would be a loss to himself of two hun- 
dred guineas, while no friend would be a gainer of 
more than two. Swift, who was a great calculator, 
could not disapprove such exactness ; and it should 
not have been related without stating, at the same 
time, that Addison's revenues, which might have 
been very great, had he, like other secretaries, 
received the presents offered by applicants for office, 
were reduced by his determination to take nothing 
more than the regular fees, so that his income Avas 
comparatively sn;iall. Archbishop King speaks with 
great respect of his exemption from every thing like 
avarice and corruption in his discharge of duty ; a 
virtue of which Ireland had not seen a very rich dis- 
play, and which is not valued in proportion to its 
rarity in that unfortunate island even now. 

The truth is, that Addison Avas one of those who 
care less for appearance than for reality : he was not 
disposed to be generous, if that would make it im- 
possible for him to be just. Unlike some other men 
of great talent, he never felt as if his genius released 
him from the obligations of common honesty. He 
would have despised himself, if he had made the 
flourish of doing liberal favors, while a creditor was 
suffering or complaining because his debt was un- 
paid. The knavish repudiation, which is so often 



ADDISON. 325 

tolerated in great men, was not consistent with his 
regard for his own honor. Tiie feeling of the world 
with respect to these matters is one that brings a 
snare. So long as an eminent person is present to 
awaken a personal interest in his readers or his party, 
they forgive him this lavish freedom with money 
Avhich belongs to others ; they forbear to press home 
that charge of dishonesty to which they knoAv he 
must plead gnilty. But, when he is gone from the 
earth, and the Egyptian tribunal sits in judgment on 
the dead, that impartial court assumes as the law, 
that he should first of all have done justly; for if, 
trampling on that obligation, he professed to have 
gone on to the love of mercy, it must condemn as a 
selfish crime that indulgence of feeling at the expense 
of principle ; and it decides that the crown of bene- 
volence and generosity shall never be worn by the 
unjust, and that a man who is not honest enough to 
pay his debts when he has the power, however highly 
he may be gifted, is the meanest work of God. Ad- 
dison was sometimes very poor ; he was never rich : 
his circumstances were such as to make exactness of 
calculation a necessity as well as a virtue. But it 
is idle to charge with avarice one who resisted temp- 
tations to gain wealth which he might have yielded 
to without censure from others, and which he resisted 
simply because he feared the censure of his own 
heart. 

It is quite evident, that, with this view of duty, he 
must have been often troubled with the reckless 
improvidence of his friend Steele, who cared little 
how or from whom he obtained the means of expen- 

28 



$26 ADDISON. 

give self-indulgence, and, when he borrowed, never 
associated with the act the idea that he must after- 
wards pay. That Addison was kind and charitable 
to his follies is evident from their long attachment ; 
but, when the revenue of the nation would not have 
been sufficient to supply Steele's wasteful profusion, 
it would have been as thoughtless as unavailing to 
put his own hving into the hands of the spendthrift, 
only to see it fooled away. There are but few 
traces on record of their dealings, in which, of 
course, the borrowing was all on one side and the 
lending on the other ; but that Addison lent freely 
appears from a remark in one of Steele's letters to 
his wife, in which he says, that " he has paid Mr. 
Addison the whole thousand pounds." At a later 
time, he says to her, " You will have Mr. Addison's 
money to-morrow noon." 

But Johnson has embalmed a story to Addison's 
disadvantage, of his sending an execution into 
Steele's house for a debt of a hundred pounds, 
communicated to him by Savage, which has ap- 
peared in different forms. One account represents 
Steele as telling the story with tears in his eyes ; 
and, if these had no other source than their mutual 
compotations, all such embellishments would be 
easily supplied by the same inspiration. Another 
version makes the sum a thousand pounds, and says 
that with a " genteel letter the balance of the produce 
of the execution was remitted to Steele." When 
Johnson adopted the story, it was so inconsistent 
with all that was known of Addison, that the world 
could not believe it : he was asked to give his au- 



ADDISON. 327 

thority ; there was no other than that of Savage, 
which he knew was, if high in his estimation, low 
enough in that of others ; and, instead of resting it 
on that foundation, he said it was part of the familiar 
literary history of the day. Noav, there were times 
when Savage's powers of hearing and speaking Avere 
somewhat confused ; he may very easily have mis- 
interpreted some hasty suggestion of Steele's, Avho 
at times labored under the same physical infirmity, 
into a statement of what had actually taken place ; 
and one must have an accurate knowledge of the 
circumstances, at least so far as to be informed 
Avhether Savage at the time Avas at the table or un- 
der it, before he can put implicit faith in a tradition 
based on his authority alone. If the story is true in 
any part, it is rather strange that it did not interrupt 
the friendly harmony of the parties, Avhich it certainly 
never did ; and the idea suggested by Thomas 
Sheridan Avas undoubtedly correct, that it Avas done, 
not so much to secure the debt as to screen Steele's 
property from other creditors. The debt Avas real, 
Avithout question ; Addison could not take such a 
step in collusion Avith Steele AA'ithout giving it the 
aspect of an underhand proceeding, Avhere fraud or 
conspiracy there was none. As this solution is 
perfectly consistent Avith Addison's character, Avho 
had not the least severity in his nature to lead him 
to such painful extremes, Ave should receive it at 
once as the satisfactory explanation ; that is, if any 
Avas needed beyond the circumstance, that the brains 
of both Steele and Savage Avere often rolling in those 
fine frenzies in Avhich visions become reality, and the 



328 ADDISON. 

boundary separating fact and fiction becomes as 
variable as the profile of a wave of the sea. 

Of the difficulty of ascertauiing any fact thus told, 
and therefore of believing it, we have an illustration 
in what is said of SAvift, who must be prominent in 
any history where he appears, and who was so way- 
ward and peculiar, that his habits attracted more 
attention than those of other persons equally high. 
Odd enough, in all conscience, he was ; but this 
same Sheridan, in his biography, has represented 
him as making his appearance at Button's coffee- 
house, then the resort of the Avits, in a rusty dress, 
with a rude and unsocial manner, and a freedom of 
talk, which, if it did not transcend all propriety, at 
least hung over the outer edge. These peculiarities 
gained him the name of the " mad parson," a title 
to which he had, probably, a more serious claim 
than those Avho applied it were able to discern. The 
date of these proceedings was somewhere between 
Swift's first political pamphlet in 1701, and his 
" Tale of a Tub " in 1704 ; and, unless the relater 
of the story could plead somnambulism to the satis- 
faction of the great jury of the public, there was 
something in the dates, Avhich, if challenged, must 
have sorely " plagued the inventor." Addison, who 
presided in these merry scenes, was all this while 
residing quietly in Europe ; and he did not set up 
his servant Button in this establishment, till some 
time after his return at the close of 1703 ; so that it 
was in some pre-existent state that Button and his 
coffee-house must have been regaled with the exploits 
of the " mad parson." It seems a pity to spoil these 



ADDISON. 329 

pleasant stories by this narrow searching into their 
truth. In common cases, they may go for what 
they are worth ; but where a great man is charged 
Aviih inhumanity, entirely at variance with all that is 
knowni of his chai*acter, there seems to be a reason 
for applying the test of circumstantial evidence, and 
figures which do not indulge themselves in lying, 
but on the contrary sometimes expose the careless- 
ness, to say the least, of those who indiscreetly use 
them. 

The whole history of Addison's relations with 
Swift is one that does him the greatest honor. It 
Avas no easy matter to keep always on good terms 
with such a man, whose natural disposition was 
cynical and sarcastic, and who was wrought up, by 
his strange fortune in politics, to a state of exaspera- 
tion against all mankind ; — against the Whigs, 
because they had not prevented the necessity of his 
going over to the enemy ; and against the Tories, 
because, with his sharp discernment, he saw that they 
disliked Avhile they flattered, and distrusted while 
they used him. He was not blind to the fact, that, 
with all his power to serve their cause, he had no 
power to serve his own interests, Avhich he had 
no idea of disregarding. He fondly persuaded him- 
self that he could do much for others ; but it was 
clear that he could do nothing for himself; and he 
was not the man to hold a barren sceptre, and be 
content with the gratification of vanity alone. This 
unsatisfactory position in which he stood soured his 
temper, which was not originally of the same growth 
with sugar-cane, and made his wayward humor, 

28* 



330 ADDISON. 

where he put no constraint upon it, about as much 
as the most Christian spirit could bear. 

We have an example, in the story told by Pope, 
of his paying him a visit in company with Gay, and 
not arriving till after the hour of supper. Swift felt 
it as a reflection on his hospitality : he therefore cal- 
culated how much the meal would have cost him, 
and forced each of them to accept half a crown, in 
order that, if they told the story with the idea of his 
housekeepuig which it implied, they might be under 
the necessity of reporting themselves as the subjects 
of his munificence too. There have been many 
attempts to solve the problem of his unhappy his- 
tory ; but it seems to us there can be no reasonable 
doubt, that, in these eccentricities of life, some of 
which were so painful, we see the approach of that 
insanity which clouded his fine understanding at last. 
There are many shades of this unsoundness of mind, 
before it reaches the pohit at which responsibihty 
ceases. Where that line is, and Avhen the wayward 
mind passes over it, can be determined only by Him 
who reads the heart. There are many cases in 
which it would be consoling to believe, in spite of 
modern theologians, that demoniacal possession has 
not yet wholly ceased from the world. 

Considering what Swift's character was, there was 
something remarkable in his constant respect and 
attachment for Addison, who was so prominent in 
the opposite party. Addison regarded him as the 
first writer of the age ; and he, Avith the greatest 
deference for Addison's ability, paid a still more 
enviable homage to his acknowledged virtues. Even 



ADDISON. 33$ 

when there had been something Hke estrangement 
between them, on account of pohtics, he wrote to 
Stella, " I yet know no man half so agreeable to me 
as he is." When Addison first went to Ireland, 
Swift expressed the hope, in a letter to Archbishop 
King, that business might not spoil the best man in 
the world. To Addison himself he says, that every 
creature m the island who had a grain of worth ven- 
erated him, the Tories contending with the Whigs 
which should say the most in his praise ; and, if he 
chose to be king of Ireland, there was not a doubt 
that all would submit to his power. At the same 
time, he says, " I know there is nothing in this to 
make you of more value to yourself ; and yet it 
ought to convince you, that the Irish are not an 
undistinguishing people." 

When Addison was in England, and Swift was 
daily expecting to hear of the predominance of his 
own party, he wrote to the Whig secretary to learn 
whether it was expedient to come over ; knowing 
tliat he could trust his friendship and wisdom, though 
on the opposite side. His aim appears to have been 
a prebend then held by South ; but the old man, 
who Avas never particularly complaisant, was not 
disposed to die in order to oblige him. Addison 
was also consulted with the same sort of confidence 
by Wharton, who wished to hold his post to the last 
moment, and not resign till the new ministry were 
likely, if he delayed, to save him the trouble. But 
in those times of fierce excitement, when the nation 
was stunned by the fall of Marlborough, it was not 
possible for a man with Addison's power to remain 



332 ADDISON. 

an inactive observer. He soon began to write in 
reply to the " Examiner," then conducted by Prior, 
a deserter from the Whigs; and, without answering 
in the same tone of abuse which Prior employed, he 
showed hoAv easy it was to put him down. Prior 
had brought forward in one of his papers the letter 
of a solemn correspondent, who recommended the 
'' Examiner " to the people : Addison said it re- 
minded him of a physician in Paris, who walked the 
streets with a boy before him proclaiming, " My 
father cures all sorts of diseases ! " to which the 
doctor responded, in a grave and composed manner, 
" The child says nothing but the truth ! " 

When the " Whig Examiner," in which Addison 
wrote, came to an end. Swift rejoiced in his journal 
to Stella that it was at last " down among the dead 
men," using the words of a popular song of the day. 
Johnson, though of the same party, remarks, " He 
might well rejoice at the death of that which he could 
not have killed." The critic, with unusual impar- 
tiality, goes on to say, that, since party malevolence 
has died away (it is pleasant to know that party- 
spirit is not immortal), every reader must wish for 
more of the " Whig Examiners ; " since on no occa- 
sion was the genius of the writer more vigorously 
exerted, and the superiority of his powers more evi- 
dently displayed. Swift did not begin writing for 
the '• Examiner " till Addison had ceased from the 
" Whig Examiner : " they met often, and Avith mu- 
tual satisfaction ; but on some points there was neces- 
sarily a reserve. Swift remarks in his journal, " We 
are as good friends as ever ; but we differ a little 



ADDISON. 333 

about party," At a later period, " I love him as 
much as ever, though we seldom meet." Early in 
the next year, he speaks of their never meeting ; but 
in the autumn he records that he supped at Addison's 
lodgings, and says that there was no man Avhose 
society was so attractive. 

The alienation seems to have been wholly on 
Swift's side : it arose from his identifying Addison 
and Steele, for Avhich he had no reason, and consid- 
ering the former as laid under obligation by his at- 
tempts to save the latter. It is clear that Addison 
had no concern with Steele's contrivances to secure 
a plank for himself at the shipwreck of his party : he 
did not choose to talk Avith Swift on the subject, and 
the successful politician was wounded by this re- 
serve. He complained that Addison hindered Steele 
from soliciting his services, because he did not wish 
that his thoughtless friend should be obliged to a 
Tory ; Avhile, in the same sentence, he says that 
Addison is asking his good offices to make another 
friend secretary in Geneva, which he shall use his 
influence to do. Even so it is with the jealous, 
ready to believe impossible contradictions. He re- 
sents Addison's unwillingness to ask a favor for one 
friend, at the very moment when he is asking one for 
another. Truly, it must have required all Addison's 
wisdom, or rather his unconscious integrity, to avoid 
giving irritation to such a temper as this. 

Johnson, speaking of Swift's kind services to Addi- 
son and his friends, says he wished others to believe, 
what he probably believed himself, that they were 
indebted to his influence for keeping their places ; a 



ou4 ADDISON. 

form of expression which implies that the doctor 
himself did not put implicit faith in his power. Bat 
the queen's death finished that overthrow of the Tory 
party which the quarrels of Oxford and Bolingbroke 
had begun ; and Swift, losing by it the grant of a 
thousand pounds from the treasury, which he sur- 
rendered multa gemens, retreated to his deanery in 
Ireland ; a home which he detested, but which was 
the only preferment that the ministers dared to give 
to a person of such unclerical fame. When Addison 
went again to Ireland, as secretary to Sunderland, 
that nobleman, who, with a most affectionate indul- 
gence for himself, was rather unforgiving to others, 
desired that he would hold no communication with 
Swift ; but, with a spirit which did him honor, Addi- 
son chose to be the judge of his own society, and 
refused to give the pledge required. There is reason 
to suppose that they met in Ireland, though nothing 
is particularly set down respecting it ; and it is well 
known that they corresponded with each other till 
the death of Addison, each maintaining the greatest 
respect and regard for the other. Now, obviously, 
no man was ever less gifted with reverence by nature 
than Swift ; no one ever had a sharper eye to look 
through the follies and Aveaknesses of other men ; 
and it does seem to us that his profound respect and 
confidence afford a better testimonial to the excel- 
lence of Addison than volumes of mere enthusiastic 
praise. 

While the Whig party was shivering in the wind, 
and after it had gone down, Addison was more at 
leisure for literary labors. With the single exception 



ADDISON. 335 

of the " Whig Examiner," and some not very com- 
plimentary notice of Sacheverel, — that ridiculous 
creature who contrived to lift himself into a mo- 
ment's notoriety, mistaking it for fame, — he does 
not seem to have concerned himself much with pub- 
lic affairs. Meantime, Steele, who had great activity 
of mind together with his well-known warmth of 
heart, and was not without that ability which perpet- 
ual action gives, had formed the plan of a periodical, 
to appear three times in the week, intended to contain 
observations on life and manners, together with the 
usual matter of newspapers. From its novelty it 
met with some success ; and Addison, Avho was 
then in Ireland, accidentally meeting with some 
numbers of it, detected its author at once by a re- 
mark which he had himself communicated to Steele, 
and which he knew was not likely to be indigenous 
in any common editor's head. 

Steele Avas excellent at suggesting all manner of 
plans; he was not without resources himself, and, he 
had extraordinary talents for securing the aid of 
others, and saving himself that labor in which he 
never delighted. By taking the name of Bickerstaff 
for the imaginary editor of the " Tatler," he attracted 
attention ; that being the name under which Swift 
had lately satirized Partridge, the almanac-maker, 
to death. This comphment, as was probably in- 
tended, secured the favor and assistance of the dean. 
But the greatest windfall was the disposition of Ad- 
dison to come to the rescue ; and surely never was 
there a channel better siiited to make public those 
treasures of sharp observation, critical remark, and 



336 ADDISON. 

thoughtful humor, in which he abounded ; and which, 
if not pubhshed anonymously, and in this light and 
piecemeal form, might have been entirely lost to the 
world, Steele, who was never deficient in good 
feeling, was glad beyond measure when he found 
what aid he had the prospect of receiving : he had 
no jealousy of that genius which he knew was to 
make such overshadowing eclipse of his own. In 
fact, he says that he rejoiced in being excelled ; in- 
fluenced in part, doubtless, by a regard to the cir- 
culation of the paper, the profit of which was quite 
important to his precarious resources, but also enjoy- 
ing the honor of heralding such talent as that of 
Addison, and claiming that gratitude for the service 
which the world was ready to give. 

The Avorld had more reason to be grateful for the 
service actually rendered by these publications, than 
it was able to estimate at the time. . Afterwards, the 
change of manners, which they were so instrumental 
in producing, evidently appeared to be a signal im- 
provement, as well as a much-needed blessing. The 
word gentleman, at that time, was a word without a 
substantial meaning : it simply denoted one who was 
not born to the worldly grandeur of nobleman, ba- 
ronet, or 'squire. Nothing like refinement of manners 
or cultivation of mind was necessarily associated with 
it. So far as wigs, red heels, and similar decorations, 
could invest one with the aspect of civilization, they 
were faithfully applied ; but, though the faith yet 
lingers in the world, it is a mistake to suppose that 
tailors and hair-dressers can make a gentleman ; 
and, after all those decorations were put on, it was 



ADDISON. 337 

felt that the gilding on the outside of the platter 
could not supply the place of that cleanness within, 
in which it was so Avretchedly wanting. Not much 
could be gained by the teaching of foreign masters. 
Louis the Fourteenth, who was careful never to pass 
a chambermaid without raising his hat, was coarse 
as sea-sand in the substantial reality of refinement in 
the domestic and social relations; and, in England, 
whatever conventional system of manners might be 
ordained, the barbarism of party spirit, intemperate 
excess, and licentious indulgence, Avas perpetually 
breaking through. It Avas necessary for some com- 
manding influence to be exerted strongly enough 
to lift those virtues which were in low esteem ; to put 
fashionable Vandalism to shame ; to raise the woman 
above the courtesan, the flirt, or even the lady ; and 
to show that the coxcomb, like Beau Fielding, the 
automaton with a title, or even coronets and orders 
without heads and hearts under them, were poor 
varieties of manufacture, compared with the real 
man. 

It may have been, that there was a strong feeling 
standing ready to welcome the right kind of re- 
former. The beastly excesses of Charles's court 
must have produced a re-action in favor of decency, 
at least, if not of virtue ; and, after the Revolution 
of 1688, the sovereign did not encourage rakes and 
rascals as much as he had done before. Still, though 
the evil of immorality did not show itself in the 
highest places as it did in that pandemonium where 
such low bipeds as Sedley and Buckingham held 
sway, it was powerful, and prevailed to such a de- 
29 



338 ADDISON. 

gree that it required a master to put it down. The 
right kind of reformer is one who understands the 
nature of the temptation, and the way to approach 
the heart. There are many who lay claim to that 
honorable name, and, so far as good intentions go, 
deserve it, who resemble engineers laying siege to a 
city, and beginning their operations by knocking their 
own heads against the wall which they desire to over- 
throw. This promising experiment is repeated again 
and again by the reformers of the present day. By 
reason of the singular firmness of that part of their 
physical system, they escape the consequences that 
might be expected to follow, — Avhich is, indeed, a 
crowning mercy ; but, Avhen they charge others less 
gifted in the roof-tree with inhumanity for not using 
the same battering-ram in their warfare, it may be 
well to show them that there are other means of 
contending with evil, less violent perhaps, but far 
more likely to accomplish the purpose ; and that the 
head, if it has any thing in it, can be used to more 
advantage in a different way. 

Thus Addison, by an easy and graceful adaptation 
of his suggestions to the place and the time, gained 
an audience for himself, where others would not have 
been listened to. He improved the opportunity to 
impress lessons of wisdom and virtue ; and he pro- 
duced an effect much greater than is generally 
knoAvn. However little the world of that day was 
inclined to thoughtfulness, it was intellectual enough 
to admire his ability ; and, when men's respect was 
thus secured, they could not treat with scorn the 
instructions of such a master. Thus, thousands who 



ADDISON. 839 

would not have paid regard to mere professional 
leaching were put in the way to hear of religion and 
duty, and, still more, to see the pleasantness of those 
paths which he'desired to have them tread. 

Steele had the same good purpose of doing some- 
thing to raise the prevailing tone of morals and man- 
ners ; but there was an obvious reason why he was 
not equal to the effort, inasmuch as he must needs 
have commenced the enterprise by taking heed to his 
own way of life. It is not by one who is able only to 
supply the gossip of the hour, that such a work can be 
successfully done. He could not have effected much 
in that way, without his more powerful coadjutor. 
But, in the alliance, his knowledge of the world was 
not without its influence ; his ways of life brought 
him into acquaintance with all sorts of persons. This 
gave him that knowing air which is so generally im- 
pressive ; and, as the intimation was held out that 
real events and characters were alluded to, his fami- 
liarity with men and manners made him formidable, 
since it was certain that nothing which he knew 
would be withheld from the public by excessive 
caution or reserve. His short narratives, imaginary 
letters, and various particulars of the kind, Avhich 
have now lost their interest, were then attractive and 
exciting. That there was much chaff to the wheat 
is certain ; still, there was something there : and, 
even now, though the day of such writings is over, 
those Avho have any love of common sense or literary 
history will find as much to gratify their intellectual 
taste, if they happen to have any, by reading the 
" Tatler," as in dozing away life by lying parallel 



340 ADDISON. 

with the horizon on the ill-savored heaps of George 
Sand, and all that unsanctified crew. 

To the " Tatler " succeeded the " Spectator," a 
work of higher order, published every day, and 
almost entirely abstaining from party-strife, with the 
view of making more elevating impressions on the 
public mind. The "Tatler" was commenced and 
closed without Addison's knowledge : but the new 
paper was more under his command ; and in it he 
distinguished his own articles by certain letters which 
were afterwards well understood. Tickell rather su- 
perfluously says that he did so, because he did not 
wish to usurp the praise of others ; Steele insinuated 
that it was because he could not without discontent 
allow others to share his own. Johnson quotes this 
last remark, as if he thought there was cause for the 
complaint which it implied ; but why, in the name 
of reason, should Addison surrender all the credit of 
his own labor and talent to another ? One would 
think, that, after having done so through the whole 
existence of the " Tatler," and having in that v/ay 
lifted it into favor and circulation, it was about as 
much as one, Avho had no special claim upon him, 
could rightfully demand. And we should like well 
to know how many literary men there are, who, 
while conscious, as he must have been, that they are 
the life and soul of a publication, would allow others 
to appropriate all the profits and the praise. 

Meantime, it may be well to state, that the mean- 
ing of the Clio Letters was not known at the time ; 
and the reader of the day had no means, except 
internal evidence, of distinguishing one writer from 



ADDISON. 341 

another. Johnson adds to this a disparaging remark, 
which he might well have spared, saying he had 
heard that Addison eagerly seized his share of the 
income of the " Spectator." He does not give his 
authority ; probably he had none, more than popular 
report or conjecture. But it would be difficult to 
give any reason why Addison should be counted 
avaricious for deriving some benefit from his labor ; 
and Johnson should have been too well acquainted 
with what is rational and right, to imply such a 
groundless charge. His circumstances were not 
such as to raise him above the necessity of this exer- 
tion ; and it does seem poor and unworthy enough 
to censure him for doing what every one else would 
have done in his place, and at the same time with- 
hold all credit from his generosity on the former 
occasion, when he did what not one man in fifty 
thousand could find it in his heart to do. 

The " Spectator" soon gave evidence of the ad- 
vantage of having more of Addison's interest in it, 
and of being wholly under his control. He excluded 
politics almost entirely, that pernicious indulgence 
by which Steele had run the bark of his own fortunes 
ashore. The small gossip and scandal, allusions to 
which had been thought necessary to supply attrac- 
tion to the " Taller," were thrown overboard without 
ceremony, and preparation was made to give the 
*' Spectator " a tone serious, earnest, and high. It 
was a bold undertaking ; few of our Dailies would 
venture quite so far : but the great master who had 
it in charge, with his endless variety of resources, 
was able to make it popular, and at the same time 
29* 



3-12 ADBISON. 

an authority in his own age, and to render it through 
all future time a subject of admiration to the intel- 
lectual ; — alas that they should be so few ! Those 
who wanted entertainment were refreshed wiih the 
Freezing of Words, Shallum, and Hilpah, not to 
speak of Sir Roger de Coverley, perhaps the most 
refined and delicate piece of humor which the Eng- 
lish or any language affords. The imaginative 
reader was delighted with the " Vision of Mirza " 
and similar fancies, playing like sunbeams on the 
solemn field of duty which was spread out before 
his mind. In his critical papers, his object is not 
to display his own profoundness, but to bring his 
readers into sympathy with his own perfect taste ; 
and he treats with easy and familiar grace the work 
before him, whether it be the grand and gigantic 
scenery of the " Paradise Lost," or the charm of 
simple description in " Chevy Chase " and the 
" Babes in the Wood." Nothing can be better suited 
to its purpose than the moral and rehgious portion 
of these writings : his interest in the subject is not 
got up for the occasion, like the Catskill cascade, 
playing when they let on the water ; it comes like a 
clear stream, flowing from a deep well-spring in his 
heart. With all his earnestness against the Free- 
thinkers, who, it must be remembered, were unthink- 
ing scoffers, ridiculing what they did not understand, 
he is entirely exempt from narrowness, and maintains 
that kind and cheerful bearing which religion should 
always wear. 

The style of these celebrated papers is, as every 
one knows, as near perfection as any thing ever has 



ADDISON. 343 

been, — artless, unaffected, transparent, but always 
manly and strong. Like Dry den, he followed the 
example of Tillotson, whose discourses, though as 
sermons they are no great things, were excellent in 
their unpretending English style, illustrating the truth 
that simplicity is the best of graces, and retains its 
attraction when ornament, high finish, and cumbrous 
decoration, lose their interest and pass away. As we 
intimated, the " Spectator " is not so much read at 
present as it deserves. The present age abounds, 
more than it is aware of, in various literary affecta- 
tions. The muse in fashion screws her countenance 
into various contortions, and " looks delightfully 
with all her might ; " so that it is almost impossible 
to tell what her natural expression, if she ever had 
any, may have been. Possibly, a return to these 
writings might do something to restore the modesty 
of nature. The experiment is worth trying, at least 
so far as to know for ourselves whether our taste is 
depraved or not : if we can take pleasure in these 
quiet and unexciting works, we may have reason for 
confidence, that, both in literature and morals, it is 
still in harmony with that which is good, and which, 
though neglected at times, will never lose the venera- 
tion of those fortunate individuals who are equipped 
Avith a mind and a heart. 

The " Spectator " was suddenly brought to a close 
without consulting with Addison, and the " Guar- 
dian" established in like manner, without the con- 
currence of the person on whom their character 
depended. But he was not the man to be offended 
by such want of attention ; though, under the cir- 



344 ADDISON. 

cumstances, a little more deference to his judgment 
would have done no harm. The " Guardian," 
though not, according to Swift's wicked expression, 
" cruel dry," was of a graver cast than its prede- 
cessors ; and in the earlier parts, where we cannot 
trace the hand of the master, it is less interesting than 
the others. Still, it stands high in comparison with 
other writings of the kind, with the exception of its 
own ancestry ; and Addison's part in it, though less 
humorous than his former efforts, is in every way 
w^orthy of his fame. Johnson complains of its occa- 
sional liveliness, as inconsistent with its professed 
character of Guardian ; we do not see why. There 
is no reason why, even in one who guards the public 
morals, an attempt to make others smile should be a 
sin; and even if it were not quite in keeping with 
the profession, still, as punishment is intended for the 
prevention of crime, and there are so few human 
writings which offend by reason of being sprightly 
overmuch, there is no crying necessity at present for 
exacting dulness as a religious virtue, or scouting 
pleasantry as at war with the best interests of man- 
kind. 

The work did not extend beyond two volumes, 
not from Avant of favor or circulation, but because 
Steele, with his usual restlessness, longed to be en- 
gaged in those politics from which Addison withheld 
him, and in which he was sure to injure himself, 
without doing service to any party. Later in life, he 
involved himself in a world of embarrassment, by a 
wild speculation for carrying live fish to market : at 
this time, he was engaged in carrying his fish to the 



ADDISON. 345 

political market, where he succeeded only so far as 
to bring himself into near acquaintance with the 
frying-pan and the fire. Shortly after, he met with 
an unusual measure of success, not, however, in con- 
sequence of any happy arrangements of his own, 
but because the act of Providence unexpectedly 
removed the queen from her subjects, who were 
quite ready to spare her to the skies. It is matter of 
surprise to us, that historians do not set down the 
fact, which to our minds seems clear, though the poli- 
ticians of her day had no means of knowing it, lliat 
the ascendency of Bolingbroke and Oxford, and the 
fall of Marlborough, were owing, not, to use Bur- 
net's elegant expression, to his " brimstone of a wife," 
nor to spilling a cup of coffee on the royal gown, but 
to the attachment of the queen to her exiled brother, 
and the concurrence of the Tory ministry in her wish 
and purpose to restore him to the throne. The com- 
munication of that administration with the Pretender 
can now be fully proved; the living actions and the 
dying words of the queen leave no doubt of her 
accession to their conspiracies ; and this fact, once 
established, explains many things at which the world 
then wondered, and which on any other theory it is 
hardly possible to understand. 

It was the agitation of these political factions that 
brought forward the celebrated " Cato," a drama 
which Addison had commenced many years be- 
fore, which he had labored upon during his travels, 
and which he was induced to finish at last, not from 
his own interest in it, but from the solicitations of his 
friends, who believed it might have an effect favora- 



346 ADDISON. 

ble to the Whigs in those doubtful times of party. 
The Tory house was divided against itself: the 
Whigs, who saw in this another pleasing instance of 
Satan against Satan, took courage from the prospect 
of their fall. The queen, too, was not immortal ; 
and her habits of life were of the kind not favorable 
to strength of purpose or length of days. If, as Lu- 
can says, Cato, unlike the gods, was more inclined 
to sympathize with the weaker party, the great 
Roman in England at the time might have been 
sorely puzzled to know which way to lean. In fact, 
the moment the play was published and acted, both 
parties claimed " Cato," not so much because they 
cared for Addison as the author, as from their deter- 
mination to appear to the nation as the champions of 
the free. 

Drury Lane, however thronged in later times, cer- 
tainly never witnessed more excitement than on this 
occasion. The performance was then in the after- 
noon ; and, dinner to the contrary notwithstanding, 
the theatre was besieged before the hour of noon. 
Steele, who had undertaken to pack an audience, 
found that he could pack the whole city of London 
without any sort of trouble. Booth established his 
fame in the part of Cato. Bolingbroke made him a 
present of fifty guineas, as he said, " for defending 
the cause of liberty so well against a Perpetual Dic- 
tator ; " in which that versatile personage made it clear 
to the player, that there were actors, not trained to 
the boards, who were infinitely better than he. The 
Whigs were not to be outdone in that way : they, too, 
came with their gifts and laurels ; so that, according 



ADDTSON. 347 

to Garth's expression, — and no man ever said any 
thing better, — it was extremely probable that Cato 
would have something to live upon after he died. 

But there is one thing which in this connection 
should be faithfully remembered. Johnson has thrown 
the shadow of avarice over the name of Addison, by 
the saying which we have before referred to, respect- 
ing his avidity for profits and praise. Collsy Gibber, 
who at that time was a joint patentee and manager 
of Drury Lane, says that the author made a present 
to him and his brethren of the profits, which were 
neither few nor small. This was not like a miser : it 
certainly does not look like eager avidity for money, 
to give up so freely that which nothing but generosity 
called him to surrender. And this is a remarkable 
illustration, showing how a thoughtless phrase of 
a biographer may fix in the public mind for ages a 
false impression, though many striking actions, and the 
whole tenor of the life, show to those who examine 
the subject, that it must be the reverse of true. 

Addison does not seem to have anticipated much 
success, if any ; not thinking the drama suitable for 
the stage. Dr. Young says, that Dryden, to whom 
it was submitted, predicted that it would not meet 
with the reception which it deserved. But this must 
refer to some earlier attempt, or to the part which 
was written early, certainly not to the finished play, 
inasmuch as Dryden had left the stage of this world 
at least a dozen years before. Pope,' hoAvever, did 
express the same opinion. When Addison told him 
that the " Rape of the Lock " was a delicious piece 
as it stood, and advised him not to alter it. Pope 



348 ADDISON. 

ascribed the counsel to jealousy on the elder poet's 
part. How easy would it be to attribute this advice 
to Addison to unworthy dread of Cato's anticipated 
renown I Addison, so far from resenting it, only 
said that he was of the same opinion, but that he had 
submitted to the judgment of his friends, who Avere 
importunate to have it appear. He certainly hated 
the labor of completing it ; he said that he should 
be glad to have some one do it for him ; but when 
Hughes rather valiantly made the attempt, he saw 
that it might be brought to an end in good earnest, if 
left to an inferior hand. Hughes consoled himself 
for his failure by writing some laudatory lines, which, 
according to the usual fashion, were afterwards pub- 
lished with the play. 

There were several others who took the same 
opportunity of shining out to the world. Young, 
Tickell, and Philips are familiar names ; but there 
were others more questionable : among the rest Avere 
some lines left Avith the printer, Avhich Johnson says 
are the best, but Avhich " Avill lose somewhat of their 
praise Avhen the author is known to be Jeffreys." 
There has been a question Avho this individual could 
be. Some have supposed that it Avas the judge of 
that name : if so, he was more just in letters than in 
law. But he had been for about twenty years in the 
other world, Avhere there is reason to suppose that he 
was less pleasantly engaged than in Avriting poetry. 
The person in question Avas a much more harmless 
gentleman, Avho did execution on literary, not human, 
subjects, and has escaped the doom of everlasting 
fame. 



ADDISON. 349 

These flourishes of adulation were not to the taste 
of the author, and he did his best to decline them. 
In a letter still preserved, he endeavors to put aside 
the compliment without wounding the feelings of the 
person who sent the lines ; but, as it was not so easy 
to avoid the honor without mflicting pain on the 
Virriters, he submitted to the necessity, and let their 
little wherries sail by his side. But there was one 
point, where his honor was concerned, on which he 
took open and manly ground. He intended to 
dedicate the play to the Duchess of Marlborough, 
who was then fallen from her height, and unable to 
serve his interests if she would. It was not pledged 
or promised, but his purpose was known. Mean- 
time, the queen, who, without any passion for litera- 
ture, desired the honor of patronizing " Cato," sent 
him an intimation that a dedication to herself would 
give her pleasure. He did not choose to take the 
hint ; and, neither to compromise his own indepen- 
dence, nor to offer a needless affront to his sovereign, 
he sent it forth without a dedication, which was un- 
common at that day. But the manliness of the 
proceeding was more unusual still, when, had he 
been so disposed, he could have gained favor by the 
attention, and silenced all objection by pleading the 
royal command. 

This tragedy has been a subject of great admira- 
tion, not unmingled with bitter censure, which falls 
harmless because it only charges him with not doing 
what he never wished nor intended to do. In the 
desperate feuds between the partisans of the classical 
and romantic schools, every writer connected with the 
"30 



350 ADDISON. 

one must needs be ridiculed and disowned by the 
other. But those who can break through this nar- 
rowness of creeds can easily see that these are matters 
of taste. There is no reason why every thing should 
be conformed to a single standard. Addison never 
pretended to be Shakspeare : the last thing in his 
mind was to enter into comparison with the un- 
rivalled. His classical prepossessions inclined him 
to side with the French ; it was in France, indeed^ 
that he set himself seriously about the play : and the 
only question is, whether he succeeded in what he 
wished to do, — a question which the world has pretty 
decidedly answered. Johnson, in his conversation, 
said that nothing would be more ridiculous than to 
see a girl weep at the representation of '^ Cato.'^ 
But what a standard is this I At the performance of 
his own " Irene " no one would ever have cried, ex- 
cept to see the end of it ; and it would have gone hard 
enough with his own muse, if pathetic interest was 
so essential a thing. But an audience may be very 
tolerably entertained without going to the extent of 
crying. With all his variety of power, Addison 
never aimed at the pathetic : he dealt more in smiles 
than tears. It is rather remarkable that be could 
have thrown so much affecting interest round the 
Stoic, — not because bis grand and solemn bear- 
ing is not impressive to the feeling, but because the 
sympathies of audiences and readers grow accus- 
tomed to their familiar courses, and such is not the 
channel in which they are expected to flow. Though 
the love-scenes may not be happily conceived, and 
the tragic interest may not be of the kind most in 



ADDISON. S51 

request with the present play-going generation, this 
work has a full testimony to its excellence in the 
place which it holds in the memories of cultivated 
men. The fine images and sentiment in which it 
abounds, as Miss Aikin justly remarks, are in con- 
stant use even by those who do not know from what 
source they drew them. 

Dr. Johnson, for some reason or other, has tran- 
scribed a great part of Dennis's criticism on " Cato," 
which drags its slow length like a snake through his 
pages. It deserves attention, not for its justice, 
though it is not wholly untrue, but for its opening 
the way to that ill-feeling on the part of Pope toward 
Addison, which has done more than any thing else 
to mislead the reading world. This ill-starred critic, 
whose chief sin seemed to be an utter obtuseness on 
the subject of poetry, had previously regaled himself 
by tearing the " Rape of the Lock " and the " Essay 
on Criticism " in pieces with his savage teeth. This 
was an offence which Pope, who, like sundry other 
Christians, performed the duty of forgiveness in a 
way of his own, made a point of resenting. The 
time was come when he thought he could do it with 
a better grace than by avenging injuries of his own. 
Accordingly, under the profession of defending Ad- 
dison, he fell upon Dennis in a coarse and personal 
lampoon, which was bitter enough to gratify his own 
spleen, but so contrived all the while as to leave the 
objections to " Cato " unanswered. Addison, Avho, 
with the feelings of a gentleman, had abstained from 
all reply, did not choose to appear as confederate 
with another to resent the injury in an underhand 



352 ADDISON. 

way ; nor did he feel under particular obligation to 
Pope for holding him up as a shield, while he in- 
dulged his own revenge. The low character of the 
attack, also, was one for which he could not be 
responsible to the world. He therefore said, that 
he could not, either in honor or conscience, be privy 
to such treatment ; and that, if he did take notice of 
Mr. Dennis's objections, it should be in a different 
way. This was high-minded and honorable ; but it 
showed Pope that his artifice was seen through, and 
that his coarseness was disapproved. It was there- 
fore the beginning of sorrows ; he never afterwards 
was able to forget or forgive it ; and, his jealous and 
irritable feeling having been thus awakened, every 
word and deed of Addison was perversely misinter- 
preted. When he once had come under censure 
of that high authority, he determined to break it 
down. 

Pope was sufficiently kind and manly in other 
matters ; but his jealousy amounted to disease, Avher- 
ever his poetical reputation was concerned ; and it is 
surprising to see to Avhat base arts he descended to 
spread his own renown, and take vengeance on all 
who stood in his way. The reply of Dennis to 
Pope's abominable satire was a letter from Jacob, 
the editor of the earlier " Lives of the Poets," stating 
that Pope's life had been submitted to the bard him- 
self, to receive his improvements and corrections ; so 
that he had endorsed his own praises, which many 
would gladly do for themselves, but would not so 
willingly appear to have done. The same underhand 
course, by which, under pretence of defending " Ca« 



ADDISON. 353 

to," he had fought his own battle, was resorted to on 
many occasions. In the " Key to the Lock," which 
is known to have been written by himself, he insa- 
tiably endeavored to fix the attention of the public 
on a work which Avas already sufficiently admired. 
In a remarkable paper in the " Guardian," he pre- 
tends to show how superior Philips's pastorals are 
to his own ; at the same time giving extracts with 
comments, which make them ludicrous to the last 
degree. 

But his most singular effort of self-applause was 
the publication of his letters, all of which have a 
labored appearance, as if written, as no doubt they 
were, for the public eye. Johnson's long head sus- 
pected, though he could not prove, this extraordinary 
juggle ; in which Pope, finding that a correspondence 
with a friend, improperly published, had attracted 
some attention, contrived that an imperfect collection 
of his letters should be throAvn in the way of the book- 
seller Curll, who had no delicacy in that nor any 
thing else. Accordingly they were printed ; where- 
upon Pope, pretending to be greatly aggrieved, com- 
plained to the House of Lords. Nothing, of course, 
was done, as no law was violated ; but it gave the 
poet the opportunity which he wanted, of publishing 
his letters in full ; and, sure enough, they appeared, 
so industriously fine, so nicely spangled with fine 
sentiments and brilliant figures, as to bear on the 
face of them the assurance, that, if written in the first 
instance to individuals,, they were, in fact, addressed 
to the world. 

The coolness between Addison and Pope, and 

30* 



354 ADDISON. 

Pope's revenge in consequence of it, have had such 
an effect upon the reputation of the former, that the 
matter requires to be examined at large. It is at the 
same time one of the most curious problems in lit- 
erary history. It has engaged the inquiring attention 
of many; among others, of Sir "William Blackstone, 
the light of the English law, who summed up the 
evidence on the subject, but pronounced no judg- 
ment, though his charge leaned evidently in favor 
of Addison. But there are one or two things to be 
considered, to which he and others who have dis- 
cussed the question have not paid sufficient regard. 
One is, that, while Addison maintained a high and 
dignified reserve, Pope took every opportunity to 
tell his own story, and so to avenge his imaginary 
wrongs ; not only repeating it to his parasite Spence, 
who received it as so much gospel, but by immor- 
talizing it in the portrait of Atticus, — one of those 
admirable caricatures which no one knew so well 
how to draw, and which, while they abounded in wit 
and discriminating satire, were deficient in nothing 
but the weightier matters of justice and truth. The 
other thing to be regarded is the character of the tAvo 
men. This affords strong presumptive evidence on 
the subject, which is most likely to have been unwor- 
thily jealous of the other. Was it the one whose 
reputation was established, who was reverenced to 
his heart's desire, and, what was more, who wrote 
anonymously, and rather with a desire to serve his 
friends than to establish his own fame, and whose 
high standing in politics also gave him other interests 
to divide his attention with this ? Or was it he 



ADDISON. 355 

whose temper was so irritable, waspish, and easily- 
excited, that he spent his days in an endless quarrel 
with poets both high and Ioav ; and who had the folly, 
driven by this mad jealousy, to embalm in rather a 
filthy preparation the memories of his opposers, who, 
but for this satire, which injures the writer more 
than any one else, would have died and been forgot- 
ten in a day ? One would say beforehand, that the 
latter would be the one to take offence and bear 
malice, and so accordingly it proved. Had it been 
a possible thing, Addison would have lived on good 
terms with him, and he did so as long as it Avas in 
his power. 

We have already mentioned the attack on Dennis, 
and Addison's reprehension of it, as the beginning 
of this disunion. Dennis always declared, that Pope 
apphed to Lintot to engage him to write against 
" Cato ; " but, though Dennis probably believed it, 
there may have been some mistake in an application 
thus received at second-hand. But the next source 
of trouble is entirely open to the eye. Pope, having 
finished his first draught of the " Rape of the Lock," 
communicated it to Addison ; telling him at the same 
time of his purpose to introduce the Sylphid ma- 
chinery, which he afterwards did with so much suc- 
cess. Addison, knowing that it was excellent as it 
stood, and that such alterations were generally fail- 
ures, told him that it was meriim sal, a delicious little 
piece, and advised him to leave it as it was. 

Warburton, who, learned and able as he was in 
some things, Avas perversely obtuse in others, says 
that, " upon this, Mr. Pope began to open his eyes to 



336 ADDISON. 

Addison's character." Truly, the operations of open- 
ing and shutting the eyes were strangely confounded 
in his mind. What was there in this which any man 
of sense could have received as jealous or unkind ? 
If, after the poet had wrought out the Rosicrucian 
machinery, Addison had counselled him to suppress 
it, there might have been some little ground for 
the suspicion ; but nothing save the most watchful 
jealousy could have taken alarm at the wise advice 
not to endanger that which was already excellent, by 
an attempt to make it better. Johnson says the 
same thing : he admits that it might have been done 
reasonably and kindly ; and, really, nothing can be 
more unmanly than the attempt to find a cause of 
quarrel and a justification of bitterness in such a 
harmless affair. Indeed, it seems so much like in- 
sanity, that it could hardly be explained, without 
looking for the origin of the difficulty in the spirit 
of party. Pope, who, as Johnson says, was apt to 
be diffuse on the subject of his own virtues, pre- 
tended to be exempt from political feeling ; but he 
was intimate with the detected Jacobites, Atterbury 
and Bolingbroke, and it is now well known that he 
was a bitter Tory in his heart. His other fancied 
causes of uneasiness, then, were increased by this 
venomous element, which poisons every heart in 
which it dwells. 

Having thus opened his eyes to Addison's charac- 
ter, without that illumination which would have been 
more to the purpose on the subject of his own, it 
was not long before Pope was to receive another 
similar injury, which made his vision stUl clearer. 



ADDISON. 357 

He had undertaken the translation of the " lUad," — 
not, though he says it, by the advice of Addison ; for 
the letter to which he alludes does not bear out this 
assertion, though it contains strong expressions of 
confidence in his ability, and of interest in his success. 
It contained an intimation which may have been dis- 
tasteful to Pope, who so studiously disclaimed any 
bias from party spirit, in the counsel which Addison 
gave him for his general conduct, not to content 
himself with half the nation for his admirers, when 
he might as easily have them all ; but with this excep- 
tion, if it is one, the tone of the letter is eminently 
kind. Having heard that some of Philips's hard 
speeches against Pope had reached the sensitive bard, 
Addison called on him to assure him that he had no 
sympathy with what Philips might have said in his 
dispraise. 

It is easy to see, from the tone of Pope's letters, 
that he feels a vexation which he can see no good 
reason to indulge, or to avow : conscious that he was 
not friendly to Addison, he amused himself, as usual 
in such cases, by the faith that he himself Avas all 
amiableness, and that Addison was an enemy to him. 
But he found it easier to impose on himself than on 
others. We find Jervas, the painter, good-naturedly 
endeavoring to soothe him by relating Addison's kind 
expressions respecting him, and his desire to serve 
his brother-poet, when his party had re-ascended to 
power. Pope's reply is clear evidence of that state of 
mind Avhich, not wholly content with itself, is still less 
disposed to be satisfied with others. Whoever has 
encountered such a disposition knows, that as, in feed- 



358 ADDISON. 

ing cross animals, it is well to look after one's fin- 
gers, every favor done to the jealous is distorted 
into an injury, received without thankfulness, and 
answered with some snappish revenge. 

Addison certainly tried hard to bear himself in such 
a manner as to calm down those unreasonable suspi- 
cions. Pope had desired him to look over the first 
books of his " Iliad." Addison asked him to dine 
with him at a tavern, and there told him that he would 
rather be excused from it at that time, since his friend 
Tickell, when at Oxford, had translated the first book 
of that poem, and was about to submit it to the world. 
Tickell had desired him to examine it ; and if, at the 
same time, he should do the same service for another, 
it might place him in a delicate position between the 
two. Now, in common cases, there could be no 
reason for this caution ; but Addison knew his man, 
and, being well aware how hard it was to keep the 
peace, was earnest always to keep to the windward 
of every affair in which it might be endangered. 
Pope, however, did not see through his reasons : he 
told him that Tickell had a perfect right to publish 
his translation, and he to look it over ; but, if the first 
bool£ was thus precluded, he would be glad to send 
him the second. Addison thus found it impossible 
to escape : he looked over it, and in a few days 
returned it with high expressions of praise. After- 
wards, when Pope's first four books were ready for 
the subscribers, Tickell pubhshed his first book ; and 
this appears to have rekindled all his former suspi- 
cion. 

But why had not Tickell a right to publish his frag- 



ADDISON. 359 

ment ? and how did he, by this proceeding, cross the 
path of one who was so far before him ? Besides, if 
it were wrong, why was Addison to answer for it ? 
Though Tickell was his friend, Addison did not keep 
him in leading-strings, nor feed him with a spoon. 
The truth of the matter was, that Addison, when 
sohcited to give his opinion, had said that both were 
good, but that Tickell's had more of the Greek : this 
was doubtless his opinion, and there was no dispa- 
ragement to Pope in declaring it. But it so happened 
that this was the very point in which Pope was con- 
scious that he was wanting. When he commenced 
the work, he was so oppressed with the difficulty 
thence arising, that " he wished somebody Avould 
hang him;" and the literary world are tolerably 
unanimous in the opinion, that, however pleasing his 
" Iliad " is in itself, there is something quite too 
modern about it to give much idea of the original. It 
is like the statues of Louis the Fourteenth, in which, 
though he wore the classical drapery, he always 
insisted on retaining the Parisian wig. A scholar, 
hke Addison, would be likely to feel this want of the 
Homeric simplicity ; and why he should be rigidly 
silent on the subject it is not easy to understand, 
when, at the same time, he awarded the translation 
the full measure of praise which it deserved. 

There is no doubt, however, that Pope, all the 
while, believed Addison himself to be the translator 
of the first book, which had appeared in Tickell's 
name. He did not say this while Addison was liv- 
ing ; then it could have been easily disproved ; but 
he was himself so much given to artifice and strata- 



360 ADDISON. 

gem, that he easily suspected it in others. He says, 
in a letter to Addison, "I shall never believe that the 
author of ' Cato ' can say one thing, and think an- 
other." And yet it is plain that he did so believe : 
these words are ample proof that he did ; for he evi- 
dently meant to hint, that the Avriter of the high sen- 
timents of the tragedy should be above deception in 
matters of ordinary life. But it might have been 
well for him to consider what was implied in this 
charge. It accused Addison of falsehood, repeated 
again and again. Addison had told him that the 
work was Tickell's ; now, if it was his own, there 
was no reason why he should not say so ; he was 
under no obhgation to refrain from doing a thing, 
because Pope had done it before him. So far from 
operating to the prejudice of Pope's interests, it went 
forth to the world with a declaration that it was not 
to be continued, because the work Avas already 
executed by an abler hand. Supposing that Addi- 
son would stoop to prevaricate, — and the whole 
tenor of his life made such a thing incredible, — how 
was any one in his senses to believe that he did so 
without any inducement whatever ? No man lies, 
without something to fear, or something to gain by 
it. The process has no delight in itself to give it 
attraction. But such was Pope's absurd exaggera- 
tion of the iiuportance of his own undertakings, that 
he was able to work himself into the monstrous 
belief of Addison's manoeuvring thus disgracefully 
in this matter, where he could have nothing to hope 
for and nothing to dread. 

But the reader may ask if there was no evidence 



ADDISON. 361 

upon Avhich to ground these suspicions. If he is not 
famihar with the subject, he will be rather surprised 
to learn, that there is nothing whatever but a remark 
of Dr. Young, who, when he heard that the transla- 
tion was written at Oxford, said that he was there 
well acquainted Avith Tickell, who communicated his 
writings to him, and he thought it strange that he 
should have been silent in respect to such an under- 
taking. This negative testimony certainly does not 
amount to much : it was possible that Tickell might 
have been so employed, without making it known to 
his friends. It was possible that Addison might have 
been mistaken in the impression that it was written 
at Oxford. But really, if one man is to be charged 
with falsehood, because another man has no other 
means than his word of knowing what he says to be 
true, a great mortality of human reputations must 
follow the application of a standard so severe. Miss 
Aikin has had access to the Tickell papers, Avhich 
are still carefully preserved ; and among them is a 
letter from Dr. Young on the subject of this transla- 
tion, treating it as Tickell's own ; telling him that 
Pope's is generally preferred, but that his is alloAved 
to be excellent, and, he has no doubt, will at last be 
able to carry the day. 

Those papers show also, that, instead of this first 
book of the " Iliad" having been translated out of 
hostihty to Pope, Tickell had made arrangements 
with a bookseller to translate and publish the whole. 
The very preface prepared for it is still in existence, 
containing judiciously formed principles on which he 
had intended to proceed. Spence, who was not the 

31 



362 ADDISON. 

wisest of mankind, said that he was confirmed in 
the impression that Addison wrote it, by the circum- 
stance that Tickell once had an opportunity of deny- 
ing it, which he did not improve. But it must be 
remembered, that no one ventured to bring the charge 
in Addison's hfetime ; that Tickell, who, according 
to Spence himself, was a very " fair and worthy 
man," could not have been aware that such a 
calumny was spread ; and that, if any one had asked 
him whether he had engaged in a fraud to act the 
liar's part, he might have been likely to withhold a 
reply to an application so elegantly presented. Old 
D'Israeli, whose researches were sometimes as valu- 
able as his son's novels are worthless, — and human 
laudation can no farther go, — not having seen the 
Tickell papers, believed what Wharton endeavored 
to prove. But, even in the absence of all external 
testimony, it is hard to conceive how any one can 
believe that a man so exemplary as Addison would 
engage in a wretched lying conspiracy, by which no 
earthly purpose, not even that of injury to Pope, had 
he desired it, could possibly have been answered. 

There was but one other thing which Pope could 
allege in justification of his bitter feeling towards 
Addison. It seems that Gildon had written a life of 
Wycherley, in which he abused Pope and his rela- 
tions ; and Pope says young Lord Warwick told 
him that Addison had encouraged Gildon to write 
the scandal, and afterwards paid him ten guineas for 
doing it. Blackstone sets down this story as utterly 
incredible, so inconsistent is it in every respect Avith 
the character of Addison. It is quite possible, that, 



ADDISON. 363 

when Gildon's work was presented to him, he may, 
before reading it, have given something to the author 
as matter of charity ; but it is nonsense, on such an 
account, to hold him responsible for Avhat the work 
contained. Here, again, what could he gam by 
such a proceeding ? There was nothing but mahce 
to be gratified in any such way ; and, if he ever had 
any malignity, he succeeded better in keeping it to 
himself than is usual with the sons of men. Besides, 
if a man of his high standing could have descended 
to such a measure, is it likely that he would have 
deposited the secret in a pudding-bag of a boy ? 
There is often in such hopeful youths a good portion 
of thoughtless malice ; even if one of them should 
lie, it is not a thing wholly without example : but, 
whatever the young lord's communication may have 
been, we have only Pope's version of it, who pro- 
bably Avas not in the best state to understand or 
remember it as it was ; for, according to his own 
account, he sat down and wrote a violent letter to 
Addison, charging him with dirty ways, and, among 
other insults, pamting the character of Atticus as it 
was first written. To this precious missive, Addison, 
who doubtless perceived that it was impossible to be 
at peace with such a person, never deigned a reply. 
Pope says that he " used him civilly ever after," 
which is more than most men would have done. 
No thoughtful and unprejudiced person will think 
that Addison ought to have cleared himself from 
such imputations ; for .what is character worth, if it 
will not shield its possessor from such aspersions as 
this ? 



364 ADDISON. 

That part of this unfortunate history which has 
been most injurious to the memory of Addison is the 
account of a last interview with Pope, said to have 
been arranged by their mutual friends, Avhen Pope 
expressed a wish to hear his own faults, and spoke 
as if he did not feel that he had been himself the 
aggressor. It is said that Addison was so trans- 
ported with passion, that he accused Pope of upstart 
vanity, and reminded him that he had been under 
the greatest literary obligation to him, giving as an 
instance a line in the " Messiah," which he had 
essentially improved. After some words of contempt 
for Pope's " Homer," he concluded, in a " low, hol- 
low voice of feigned temper," with advice to Pope 
to be more humble, if he wished to appear well to 
the Avorld. Pope retorted in the like strain, abusing 
Addison for his jealousy of the merit of others, and 
similar failings ; and, after this exchange of confec- 
tionery, the two poets departed in peace, to meet no 
more. 

Internal evidence alone would show that this must 
have been a poor fabrication. The benevolent fa- 
shion in which the interview was conducted was not 
strictly Addisonian ; and the favor with Avhich he 
upbraided Pope, that of spoiling a very good line of 
the " Messiah," was not enough to put the younger 
poet under bonds of gratitude to the end of time. 
If he had wished to insist on this point, he might 
have referred to all he had written in favor of Pope, 
as affording a less questionable claim upon his grate- 
ful feeling. But it is needless to dwell on this ; for 
no one can doubt, that, had there been a word of 



ADDISON. 365 

truth in this story, Pope would not have said, some 
time before, that Addison " used him civilly ever 
after ; " and as Pope was careful, in his conversa- 
tions with Spence, to give all his causes of complaint 
against Addison, with perhaps a trifle over, he must 
have been loud and long on the subject of such a 
memorable passage, had it ever occurred. 

But the story was not manufactured till after he 
was in the dust. After his death, appeared a " Life 
of Pope," without any publisher's name, but pur- 
porting to be written by William Ayre, Esq. and to 
contain facts drawn from " original manuscripts, and 
the testimony of persons of honor." D'Israeli calls 
it a " huddled compilation," which appeared in "a 
suspicious form." Probably there was truth m speak- 
ing of the information as original, if much of it was 
hke the story related above. It occasioned some 
remark when it first appeared, and was openly 
ascribed to Curll, who Avas no doubt the person of 
honor in question, and whose honor was so well 
established, that nothing could gain credit for a mo- 
ment which rested on his testimony alone. He was 
in the habit of publishing these " Lives," containing 
large measures of " original " information, drawn 
from conversation in coffee-houses, and other un- 
questionable sources, not to speak of the invention of 
the writer ; and from this latter source must have 
come this narrative of the last farewell of Pope and 
Addison, concerning which D'Israeli innocently says, 
" Where he obtained all these interesting particulars 
I have not yet discovered." 

One of the most curious illustrations of Pope's 

31* 



366 ADDISON. 

State of mind, and one which sliows the extravagance 
of his pecuhar feehng, is what he said to Spence 
respecting Addison's sacred poems, — those beauti- 
ful lyrics which have all tlie spiritual grace of earnest 
devotion, together with a sweetness of language and 
measure Avhich, unfortunately, is seldom found in 
Christian hymns. Tonson, having some pique against 
Addison, said that, Avhen he wrote them, he intended 
to take orders and obtain a bishopric. But Tonson 
honestly gave the reason of this very natural surmise : 
it was, " I always thought him a priest in his heart." 
Jacob could not conceive of a man's writing hymns, 
and feeling the spirit of devotion, without something 
to gain by the operation ; and his result was obtained 
simply by putting two and two together, not because 
there was any external reason for the suspicion in 
any rational mind. Johnson admits, that Pope's 
thinking this notion of Tonson's worth preserving is 
a proof that some malignity, growing out of their 
former rivalry, lingered in his heart ; for, as he says, 
" Pope might have reflected that a man who had 
been secretary of state to Sunderland knew a nearer 
way to a bishopric than by defending religion or 
translating the Psalms." He might also have said, 
as Pope Avas well aware, that King David hunself, 
had he been extant, might have sung himself to ever- 
lasting bliss, before he Avould have reached an Enghsh 
mitre by the force of piety and inspiration alone. 

To the same source, without doubt, may be traced 
the impression that Addison was given to excess in 
wine ; for not an intimation of the kind can be found 
in any authority save that of Spence, who was the 



ADDISON. 367 

retailer of all Pope's uncharitable suspicions. He 
said that Addison kept late hours with his friends at 
taverns : but he does not charge him with excess ; 
and, when we know the prevailing habits of gentle- 
men of that day, such a practice does not imply by 
any means what it would now. It was the usual 
way in which they associated with their familiar 
companions. We may see, that even so late as 
Boswell's time, more than half a century after, the 
same custom prevailed in London, and was not then 
inconsistent with propriety and good morals, though 
it would be differently regarded now. Swift writes 
to Colonel Hunter, — "Sometimes Mr. Addison and 
I steal to a bottle of bad wine, and wish for no third 
person but you, Avho, if you were with us, would 
never be satisfied without three more." This pas- 
sage, which applies more directly to the question than 
any other recorded, implies that he Avas not a slave, 
nor even inclined, to excess. We find, too, that he 
was in the habit of retiring from this cheerful society 
to the solitude of country lodgings, as more suited 
to his labors, and more congenial with his taste. 

The disease under which he suffered, and of which 
he died, the asthma, was not such as intemperance 
brings on. In the " Spectator," he speaks of this 
habit in a manner which it does not seem credible 
he should have adopted, if he could have been re- 
proached with the transgression which he so earnestly 
condemned. Johnson maintains, what he had found 
in Spence, that Addison sat late in taverns, and drank 
too much wine ; but he also says, that Addison's pro- 
fessions and practice could not have been much at 



368 ADDISON. 

variance, since, though he passed his life in a storm 
of faction, and was formidable for his activity and 
conspicuous for his station, his enemies never contra- 
dicted the character that was given of him by his 
friends; and he retained the reverence, if not the 
love, of those who were opposed to him and his 
party. Moreover, the same great critic says, that he 
dissipated the prejudice which had long connected 
gayety Avith vice, and easy manners with looseness 
of principle ; he restored morality to its dignity, and 
taught virtue not to be ashamed. This is an eleva- 
tion of character above all Greek, above all Roman 
fame. Though Ave are singularly deficient in all 
information respecting the familiar manners of a per- 
son so distinguished, these terms are not descriptive 
of the influence and character of an intemperate 
man ; and, since there is no shadow of authority to 
charge him with excess save that of Spence, and his 
information Avas derived from Pope, who cherished 
hatred and horror for the " little senate at Button's," 
Ave shall hold ourselves excused from believing it, 
balancing the general character of Addison against 
the unsustained aspersions of an angry foe. 

We do not think it necessary to dwell at length on 
the story said to have been told by Voltaire, of his 
having dined in company Avith Addison Avhen in 
England, and left him in a state of intoxication which 
Avas painful to see. Voltaire may have said it, for 
he was not very choice in his asseverations ; but 
there is a difficulty in the Avay of believing it, arising 
from the fact that he did not visit England till 1726, 
and Addison died five years before. It is clear that 



ADDISON. 369 

he was not in the company of Addison while living : 
whether he has fallen in Avith him since, avb have no 
means of ascertaining. 

It is singular, and not very creditable to Pope, 
that every story which has ever been told to the dis- 
advantage of Addison proceeds from him, and is 
based on his authority alone. It is from him we 
learn, that Addison, when he was secretary to the 
regency, was called upon to write notice to Hanover 
that the queen was dead. " To do this," says John- 
son, " would not have been difficult for any man but 
Addison, who was so overwhelmed by the greatness 
of the event, and so distracted by the choice of 
expressions, that the lords, who could not wait for 
the niceties of criticism, called Mr. Southwell, clerk 
of the house, and ordered him to despatch the mes- 
sage." Now, though Addison used Pope " civilly 
ever after " their alienation, it does not seem likely 
that he would have gone to him with this auricular 
confession. Besides, it gives the impression that the 
queen's death took them all by storm ; yet the lords 
justices were appointed after her death by the coun- 
cil, and they, at their meeting, had chosen Addison 
their secretary, and notified him of his election ; so 
that he had ample time to recover from the shock 
of that affliction, which, as it restored the ascen- 
dency of his own party, was not likely to break his 
heart. It also appears, that the Earl of Dorset was 
the living letter sent over to announce the event, and 
to invite the Elector to the vacant throne ; so that it 
is not probable that Addison was ever brought to 
this disastrous pass. Had it been so, there is a pos- 



370 ADDISON. 

sibility, that, with his long practice in pubhc affairs, 
and his eminently simple and natural style, in which 
he no more dealt in choice expressions than in John- 
son's heavy cannonade of words, he might have found 
terms to communicate to the Elector the fact that the 
throne was vacant, which required neither flourish nor 
lamentation to make the news go down. 

It is to the same amiable authority to which we 
have referred, and to no other, that we are indebted 
for the story, that Addison resigned his olfice because 
he was incompetent to discharge its duties. But it 
is ridiculous to suppose, that, with his ability and 
experience of public affairs, he could not do what 
was so often and so easily done by far inferior men ; 
for he was no retired scholar, untrained in this 
world's affairs, but a man whose education and 
habits of life were precisely adapted for the station, 
with the single exception of speaking in parliament, 
which was not expected of him, and which he never 
undertook to do. Th&' cause of his retirement is 
obvious enough : it Avas the disease of which we have 
spoken. His letters speak of long and dangerous 
fits of sickness, which made his friends anxious, as 
we learn from Vincent Bourne, who celebrated his 
recovery, and which may have rendered him unequal 
to the station, though not for the reasons which 
Pope's insinuation would imply. It is to be hoped, 
however, that they gave him credit for some honora- 
ble reason for retiring, when he died in the following 
year, unless, indeed, the same charity Avhich con- 
strued severe disease into incompetency had charged 
his death upon him as a sin. 



ADDISON. 371 

The subject of Addison's marriage is enveloped in 
a strange darkness. In this, however, his character 
is not concerned. Many wise men of mature age 
involve themselves in this kind of difficulty, from 
which, when they find their mistake, they cannot 
easily be extricated. But it is edifying to see, that 
our impression of the unhappiness of his marriage 
with the Countess of Warwick rests upon a " per- 
haps" of Johnson. He, in his blind reverence for 
rank and title, did not perceive that the high political 
standing of Addison, together with his literary fame, 
made him rather more than equal to the widow of a 
declining house ; for she was not of the family which 
now bears the name ; and, having once taken his 
own view of the matter, his ponderous fancy went 
on in its career of invention with nothing to stop its 
wheels. Johnson says he first became acquainted 
with the lady from having been tutor to her son. 
But there is no proof that he ever held this charge ; 
and, being at the time in the office of under-secretary 
of state, it is not very likely that he officiated as tutor 
to a boy ten years old. That he did take an interest 
in the youth is certain from his letters, and he did so 
probably from regard to his mother ; but how or 
when he formed her acquaintance, we are not 
informed. Johnson also quotes from Tonson : " He 
formed the design of getting that lady, from the time 
he was first recommended into the family." Jacob 
was certainly an extraordinary person to intrust a 
love-tale with ; and, if Addison gave him his confi- 
dence on such a matter, he placed more trust in his 
discretion than most other men would have done. 



372 ADDISON. 

The great critic seems to have been aware, that 
the world would think it well for him to give some 
authority besides his own imagination for stating that 
the marriage was unhappy ; but " uncontradicted 
report " is all the testimony he can bring. But Avho 
was to contradict it ? Addison might never have 
heard of it: if he had, he does not seem very likely 
to have published a manifesto assuring the world that 
he Avas not the distressed object they took him for ; 
nor had he descendants to rise up in after days, and 
vindicate his married fame. Johnson might have 
received a lesson, had he known what was said by his 
friends of his own fair bride, of her coarse and vulgar 
airs, and the selfishness with which she indulged her- 
self at great expense in country air, and other ele- 
ments somewhat stronger, Avhile he was laboring 
with his pen in London. Had the world known 
nothing more, they might reasonably have inferred 
that his own connection was no fountain of delight. 
And yet there is no doubt that he sincerely loved and 
deplored his wife. 

There is something unpardonably rash in the man- 
ner in which he has descanted on this part of Addi- 
son's history, without even Spence to sustain him. 
The only fact which we know in relation to it implies 
that the connection was happy, and not wanting 
in that mutual confidence which forms its greatest 
blessing. In Addison's will, dated a month before 
his death, he left his whole estate, real and personal, 
to his lady : at their marriage, instead of being en- 
riched by the connection, he had settled property on 
her. His words are : "I do make and ordain my 



ADDISON. 373 

dear wife executrix of this my last will ; and I do 
appoint her to be guardian of my dear child Char- 
lotte Addison, until she attain the age of one and 
twenty ; being well assured that she will take good 
care of her education and maintenance, and provide 
for her in case she live to be married." Anybody 
who chooses may believe that such a man would 
intrust his only child to the care of one Avho had 
made his home so miserable that he was driven to 
spend his evenings in a tavern ; but, with us, this 
undoubted expression of confidence weighs more in 
her favor than any amount of conjecture on the other 
side. For this woman, it must be remembered, had 
a son and daughters by her former marriage ; and a 
father must have been more unnatural than Ave think 
he was, if he had left his own child a helpless prisoner 
in a house which is said to have been intolerable to 
himself. 

There is one passage in Addison's history on which 
we cannot dwell with satisfaction, though the only 
reproach which it brings is that of yielding for a 
moment to the exasperation of feeling into which the 
best men may sometimes fall. When he left office 
for ever, parties were raging high ; and Steele, whose 
reputation and fortunes had been shattered by his 
follies, undertook the management of a paper which 
he called the " Plebeian," in opposition to the Peerage 
bill, which was intended to abridge that power of the 
crown which had created twelve peers at once in 
Harley's administration, to secure a majority in the 
House of Lords. Some of the Whigs opposed the 
measure, and among them Steele ; who was answered 
32 



374 ADDISON. 

in the " Old Whig," in a paper written with such 
force of thought and style, that Addison was known 
at once to be the writer. It contained no personal 
allusions, and, though earnest in its argument, had 
nothing in it meant to inflict a personal wound. Not 
so with Steele's reply : it was angry and bitter, accus- 
ing the " Old Whig " of deserting his principles, and 
treating him in a manner which seems unaccountable 
to those who have never seen kind hearts possessed 
with the devil of party. In his retort, Addison was 
provoked to some personal and contemptuous expres- 
sions, such as he had never used before. The next 
number of the " Plebeian " showed that Steele was 
deeply wounded by the treatment which he had 
brought upon himself; and, as Johnson says, — 
" Every reader must regret that these two illustrious 
friends, after so many years passed in confidence 
and endearment, in unity of interest, conformity of 
opinion, and fellowship of study, should finally part 
in acrimonious opposition." But so unfortunately 
it was ; and yet we cannot believe that Steele would 
have written as he did, could he have thought that 
his former friend would read it almost with his dying 
eyes. We are authorized to believe that Addison 
regretted his share in it, from the circumstance that 
Tickell did not mention this paper in his works, nor 
insert it among his other writings ; and that Steele's 
resentment was momentary, we may infer from his 
afterwards mentioning Addison, in a letter to Con- 
greve, as " the man that he loved best." 

The dying scene of Addison was an appropriate 
close to such a life : the support of that religion which 



ADDISON. 375 

he had followed through all his days was present, to 
brighten the death-bed in his closing hour. Miss 
Aikin inclines, from internal evidence, to distrust the 
story told by Dr. Young, of his sending for the young 
Earl of Warwick, that he might see how a Christian 
could die. She thinks that it apjDears too much like 
display to be consistent with his humble and retiring 
spirit ; but it is going quite too far to discredit a cir- 
cumstantial statement made on such authority, merely 
because it does not agree with our notions of what 
beseems such a place and hour. We can see no 
such aiming at effect, nor does it savor in the least of 
ostentation. The young man, probably, like too 
many persons of his rank and age, had no faith in 
religious feeling; like others who have known nothing 
of it from their own experience, he did not believe 
in its existence ; not reflecting that he could not pro- 
nounce upon the genuineness of that which he did 
not know. To us it seems perfectly natural that 
Addison, earnest to undeceive him, should have taken 
that course to show him that religion was not a name 
and a profession, but a real and substantial thing, 
which, though unseen, has power to sustain the dying 
when the shadows of death are falling, and the world 
is passing away. 

Before his death, he sent for Gay, with whom he 
had not been familiar, and, after receiving him with 
great kindness, asked his forgiveness of some former 
wrong : he did not say what it was, and Gay never 
was able to conjecture what it could possibly have 
been. But the incident is important; for, certainly, 
if the dying man was so anxious to make reparation 



376 ADDISON. 

for an injury which the subject of it was never con- 
scious of receiving, he must, beyond all question, 
have taken the same opportunity to clear his mind 
from the shade of those greater offences with which 
be has been charged, if there were any such to re- 
member. Were there nothing else, this would be 
sufficient to prove to our satisfaction, that he had 
never been guilty of that fraud, falsehood, and in- 
temperance, of which an enemy accused him, and 
which have left a reproach upon his memory that it 
is high time to remove, wherever the condemnation 
may fall. 

It is a matter of deep interest to the cause of let- 
ters to clear from unmerited reproach one of the few 
who, with high literary eminence, have labored to 
maintain not so much the reputation as the character 
of a Christian. It is the glory of Addison, that, in 
an age when lawless ridicule was sometimes applied 
to subjects the most important, and when religion 
was neither valued nor understood by many of the 
leaders of taste, — when Sir William Temple had 
reason to say, " The fools of David's time, who said 
in their hearts. There is no God, are the wits of 
ours," — he never was ashamed of the gospel, but 
quietly opened his heart to its influences, and en- 
deavored to keep its commands. He was also free 
from that narrowness with which religious principle 
is sometimes attended. Sometimes he speaks with 
severity of those who differed from him, for the virtue 
of toleration had then hardly dawned upon the public 
mind : but that he was free from all bigotry is mani- 
fest from his patronage of Whiston, and his respect 



ADDISON. 377 

for Thomas Burnet, and the " reasoning mill," as 
Voltaire called him, Dr. Samuel Clarke. Without 
any compromise of his faith or feeling, he associated 
with such men as Garth, who, when dying, sent to 
him to ask if Christianity was true; and, under all 
circumstances and in all associations, he kept the 
whiteness of his soul undefiled, except by the stains 
and shadows thrown upon it by the wretched hos- 
tility of Pope. How this was requited we happily 
are able to tell. After their separation, brought on 
by the insolent letter mentioned above, having occa- 
sion to speak of the manner in which the language 
was enriched by translations of classical authors, 
Addison, in the " Freeholder," mentions Pope's 
" Homer," not cordially, as if it was meant for a 
peace-offering, but in terms of respect perfectly natu- 
ral, kind, and such as, though they would not equal 
the demands of the poet, all disinterested persons 
would allow to be just. 

But we do not mean to represent Addison as fault- 
less ; neither was Pope destitute of virtues, though 
afflicted with that disease of the spirit which made 
him see all things yellow. To us it seems clear, that 
the great failing in Addison's character was his fas- 
tidiousness : excellent as his heart was, this difficulty 
prevented his sympathies from extending as widely 
as religion would have them. It made him shrink 
from near approach to mankind in general, though 
warm-hearted to his friends and companions ; and 
thus it often happens, that literary habits and a sen- 
sitive nature, though they have their own ways of 
manifestation, do something to unfit men for active 
32* 



378 ADDISON. 

usefulness ; as the marble, though excellent for sculp- 
ture, is less adapted for works of public improve- 
ment than coarser varieties of stone. But, after 
making all possible abatement, enough vv^ill remain 
to establish the character of Addison on the highest 
ground. As a writer, we look through the history 
of letters, and we find very few before him ; as a 
man and a Christian, we know of none. 

If we have exceeded our usual bounds in enlarging 
on this subject, it is because we are fully persuaded 
that justice has never been done to Addison. Those 
who look into the matter are surprised to see how 
little foundation there is for many things which go 
down from generation to generation : it is sometimes 
alarming to think how long the effect of a calumny 
may last. But it is consoling to see, that, where the 
life has been ordered in principle and faithfulness, 
the general character bears witness for itself which 
none can deny. The world may charge the man 
with weaknesses and frailties ; but they cannot mis- 
represent him so far as to overcloud the brightness 
of his fame. So it has been with Addison : those 
w^ho credited the slander have not denied his excel- 
lence ; they have tenderly lamented these darkening 
stains, as those infirmilies which may be expected 
from poor human nature. But, in truth, he needs 
no such forgiveness ; and we believe that those who 
investigate the matter without having made up their 
minds beforehand will bring in a verdict of " not 
guilty," and be ready to exalt him to one of the 
highest places among the lights of the world. 



$79 



MARGARET. 



Margaret ; a Tale of the Real and Ideal, Blight and Bloom ; in- 
cluding Sketches of a Place not before described, called Mons 
Chiisti. Boston : Jordan and Wiley, IS-io ; 12mo, pp. 460. 

To write a story which shall find a market would 
not seem to be a very difficult undertaking, if we 
may judge from the ship-loads of such matters which 
find a rejoicing welcome, and the multitudes of men, 
so called, besides women and children, who fall, with 
a wolf-like appetite, on husks, which, if the lower 
animals were readers, would appear intended for 
creatures much lower than mankind. But to mature 
a novel which shall command the respect of really 
intelligent persons, which shall impress more on the 
second reading than the first, and which powerful 
minds can resort to for impulse and invigoration, is 
what few of the multitudes who have attempted it 
have been able to do ; because it requires a richness 
of attainment, a cheerful and sympathizing spirit, a 
wide-reaching mastery of style, together with a clear 
and strong good sense, which are seldom found 
united in any single mind. It may seem strange to 
hear this last attribute -mentioned as a chief element 
of success, when it is one of the last gifts and graces 



380 MARGARET. 

which the habitual novel-reader is likely to possess 
himself, or to demand in others ; nevertheless, it is so. 
It has been abundantly proved by experiment, that 
sagacious common-sense is necessary for the manage- 
ment of the various materials, for the control and 
guidance of fancy, and for bringing all to bear on 
the impression vi'^hich it is desired to stamp in the 
mind and heart. One may apply to this quality 
what William Penn said to the recorder of London, 
when that potentate told him, after repeated de- 
mands, that he was guilty by the common law : 
*' Friend, if that law of which thou speakest be com- 
mon, methinks it should not be so hard to produce." 
Hard to produce examples of this common-sense, in 
this department of literature, it certainly is ; so much 
the sins and sorrows, the quarrels and eccentricities, 
of authors will sadly tell. And this is one great 
reason why Scott and Miss Edge worth still keep 
their high stations, defying all efforts to displace 
them. How far it is a gift of nature, and how far it 
may be formed by experience and reflection, it is not 
easy to tell ; but, without it, no writer of fiction will 
ever naake a satisfactory impression, or secure a 
lasting and unquestioned fame. 

But the highest gifts and powers would find them- 
selves at fault in the attempt to construct a story as 
a vehicle for the expression of doctrines and opinions : 
most probably they would not attempt it, A trans- 
parency cannot be a very good picture, and great 
artists will leave it to other hands. It is true, that 
St. Pierre, in his " Paul and Virginia/' intended to 
show the evils of artificial society in contrast with 



MARGARET. 381 

the blessings of simple and unpretending life ; but it is 
equally true, that no reader cares for or thinks of the 
moral ; so that it is only because the fiction is not what 
he meant it should be, that it met with such brilliant 
success. There are many such cases, in which the 
Avriter begins with that intention, but finds himself 
obliged to give up the doctrine or the story. So in 
Miss Martineau's " Illustrations of Political Econo- 
my," the doctrine is put out of the way as the story 
advances, and afterwards attached to it, as if by a 
wafer or a string : the reader removes the obstruc- 
tion to his operation, and treats the work like any 
other fiction. But, in works of a graver cast, where 
the moral is too precious to be thus cavalierly treated, 
the doctrine is sure to crush down the narrative with 
its v^reight. The sable fleet of religious novels, op- 
pressed with their leaden cargo, have shown marvel- 
lous alacrity in sinking where they were never heard 
of more ; and the whole history of these experiments 
proves, that there is an inherent unfitness in this 
form of communication for any such purposes. Such 
truths must be presented to minds in a different state 
from that in which novels find and leave them. There 
is something praiseworthy in the attempt, no doubt ; 
but it is not every one who has the power to become 
all things to all men ; and this adaptation, however 
well intended, must liave regard to its metes and 
bounds. Had the great English moralist, in the 
exercise of his high vocation, presented himself in a 
ballroom, in order to create sympathy by assimilating 
himself to the fashions there prevailing, he probably, 
as he swept through the dance like a mastodon, de- 



382 MARGARET. 

molishing light fantastic toes without number, would 
have alarmed the sons and daughters of pleasure 
by his stormy gyrations, more than he Avould have 
fascinated them by putting on their manners and 
graces. And every professed teacher places himself 
at equal disadvantage, when he parts with the charac- 
ter which is natural to him, to assume, even for the 
best reasons, a disguise which he knows not how to 
wear. 

When the writer's professed object is to present 
and sustain new theories of social life, the difficulty 
is greater yet ; because the first question with respect 
to them is, " Are they practicable ? " It is easy to 
frame beautiful systems, and to plan vast improve- 
ments ; but, when they are brought to the test of 
action, unforeseen difficulties often appear. Like 
the wings of the schemer in " Rasselas," however 
nicely calculated for the resistance of the air and the 
weight they are to carry, as soon as they are spread 
for a flight, the neck of the inventor is in much dan- 
ger, and the merit of the contrivance is set at rest. 
To show that a theory works well in a novel is not 
enough to silence the doubter ; there the elements of 
success are more under control and less refractory 
than they are found in real life : the Utopian experi- 
ment, that is, the one tried nowhere, is not precisely 
the thing to convince opposers. Neither is it enough 
to show that the existing state of things requires im- 
provement ; this will be the case in the happiest state 
of existence here below ; but it may be undeniable 
that things are bad as they are, and yet not by any 
means clear that our inventions would make them 



MARGARET. 383 

belter. And, when both the old abuses and the new 
improvements are set before us in imaginary forms, 
the former overstated as is common in fiction, and 
the latter wholly untried in practice, and therefore 
somewhat visionary in their aspect, all reasoning and 
inference are too shadowy and unsubstantial to make 
any impression on those who do not already sympa- 
thize wiih the theorist in his aversion for the old, and 
his passion for tlie new. 

One of the doctrines intimated in this work is the 
sufficiency of every mind to itself; thus implying 
that every human spirit can solve for itself the pro- 
blem of existence, and work out from its OAvn re- 
sources an idea of God and eternity, sufficient to 
satisfy the wants of the soul. A Christian apostle 
has stated, that men might have become acquainted 
with the Divine power and existence from the sug- 
gestion of created things ; but it must be understood 
that they might have done so, had they begun aright, 
by listening to the intimations of nature from with- 
out, and paying respect to the voice of conscience 
within. Had this been the course of mankind from 
the beginning, no doubt they might have travelled 
in the ascending path of light far beyond what can 
be seen or even imagined now. But that any single 
mind exposed to depraving influences, with its selfish 
and worldly passions constantly tempted into strong 
action, could clear an atmosphere and form a field 
of vision for itself, so as to discern those heavenly 
things which are invisible to other eyes, requires to 
be established by stronger evidence than a fictitious 
illustration can supply. For the human race had a 



384 MARGARET. 

tolerable allowance of time to make these discoveries 
for themselves ; and yet, though powerful minds bent 
their energies in that direction, they made no ap- 
proach to success. If they could not do it in some 
thousand years, it does not seem likely that they can 
do it at all. It is true that a sense of dependence 
suggested that there was some higher Power ; but 
this gives little satisfaction, without some knowledge 
of his character, and our relations to him. If we feel 
a presence near us at deep midnight, it gives us no 
confidence : it is rather an oppressive and fearful 
mystery. It is not till we recognize it as the pre- 
sence of a friend, that it can possibly encourage and 
strengthen us. And it Avas in this painful way alone 
that men felt the Divine presence in the ages before 
Christianity ; and so, without a revelation, they would 
feel it still. Now it may be admitted, that men of 
themselves might discover the Divine existence ; but 
w^hat would the knowledge avail them, vsrithout such 
information of his character as to make that know- 
ledge a blessing to the heart ? We do not under- 
stand this author as maintaining, however, that the 
minds of children can work out the full disclosure 
for themselves, but only as intimating that they are 
better off without such religious instruction as is 
commonly given them than with it. In this we do 
not agree with him ; for, though uncouth, imperfect, 
and unworthy, it at least conveys the impression of 
something which is considered important ; and there- 
fore, when communicated in good faith and sincerity, 
it is better than none. 

Our author also intends to convey an idea of New 



MARGARET. 385 

England life and character, by representing a com- 
munity which has grown up under a form of Chris- 
tianity. He paints them as coarse, selfish, and 
worldly, with hardly an exception ; indulging in dis- 
honesty, intemperance, and other vices, unreproved, 
and to such an extent as to excite the contempt and 
aversion of a child, who herself had groAvn up among 
degraded associates in a drunkard's home. What 
can it be which induces all who give a representation 
of NcAv England to make it so desperately vulgar ? 
In the name of common-sense, is it true, that there 
is nobody but Sam Slick extant in this part of the 
habitable globe ? Sharp and selfish many are, no 
doubt, but not in a greater proportion than else- 
where ; and it is a fact, though no one would suspect 
it from such writings, that there are hearts and souls 
here ; hearts as true and souls as spiritual as in other 
parts of the world. "We hardly know how to explain 
this perversion of the truth, except from the tendency 
of the pencil, in the hands of an unpractised painter, 
to caricature ; for every one who knows what real 
refinement of feeling is, must have found much of it 
in the humblest places of the land. And as for kind 
affections, the author is true to nature, when, in a 
beautiful passage of his work, he represents the vil- 
lagers as turning out, with self-forgetful and deep 
feehng, to find the child, the heroine of his story, 
Avho was wandering in the woods when a whirlwind 
passed through them. Nothing can be better than 
the description of enmities laid aside, and cares and 
interests forgotten, while all engage with unanimous 
impulse in this labor of love. Whence came these 

33 



386 MARGARET. 

afFeclions, flashing out with such brightness at such 
a time ? Had Christianity nothing to do in forming 
them ? Would they have been found to the same 
extent in any but a Christian land ? There were 
those who distilled ardent spirit, and those who sold 
and drank it ; but it does not appear that this was 
done in consequence of instructions from the pulpit 
to that effect ; nor could the clergymen be con- 
demned for not denouncing such things, when no 
one suspected them to be sins. Father Matthew, had 
he lived in that day, would have taken his glass with 
others. The impressions thus given are neither ac- 
cording to nature nor truth. 

Too much of the work, probably because the author 
was describing that which he personally knew little 
about, is liable to the same objection with the account 
of the ordination dinner, on the 228th page, which 
has just enough of fact to save it from being called 
an entire misrepresentation, and enough of travesty 
to give an entirely false impression of the men and 
times which it describes ; — men cheerful and natural 
in their manners, but worthily respected, and at least 
as holy as those who have come after them ; and 
times Avhich, though abounding in their own pecu- 
liar temptations, were exempt from some of the sins 
of a later day. On the whole, the view of that state 
of society which the author has given is not only 
dreary and disgusting, but one-sided and unjust : it 
is not drawn from the living reahty of those times, 
but from a theoretical imagination of what, in his 
view, they are likely to have been. 

The author has also fallen into a sort of cant. 



MARGARET. 387 

which prevails quite extensively at the present day, 
and threatens to abound yet more. It is the angry 
lamentation over the fallen church ; as if Christianity 
^vas better represented anywhere and everywhere 
than in the lives and bearing of those who profess it. 
Every one who has a wild opinion which Christians 
regard with indifference ; every one Avho has some 
fantastical remedy for social evils, Avhich the good 
sense of Christians rejects ; every one Avho, under 
some transparent pretext of philanthropy, indulges his 
selfish and savage passions, turns upon the church, 
as if it was the source of all human guilt and woe. 
Now, it is quite certain that the church, as it is their 
pleasure to call it, is by no means true to its profes- 
sion nor to its design ; but the. question is, To what 
set of men could its influence be transferred with 
any advantage ? And where are those who better 
represent the spirit of their Master ? The church, it 
must be remembered, is made up of men. They are 
influenced and tempted like others in this strange 
world ; but that they are less faithful than others, is 
more easy to say than to prove. They ought, indeed, 
to be more so ; and we have no doubt that they are 
more faithful than others, — immeasurably in ad- 
vance of those whose joy it is to abuse them. But 
it is so easy to compound with one's conscience in 
this way, and to assume to one's self the praise of 
excellence without taking pains to reach it, that we 
can hardly expect men to deny themselves the self- 
glorifying satisfaction which it is such a comfort to 
possess. Accordingly, we find great numbers who 
endeavor to pass for holy and humane at the expense 



388 MARGARET. 

of nothing but words. To revel in this pleasing 
self-indulgence requires no other exertion on their 
part than is necessary to run others down ; so that 
not only are the consciences of individuals deeply 
wounded by the sins of other people, but we see 
great nations with all manner of social evils and 
outrages untouched at home, sending their moral 
sense abroad to denounce abuses in foreign lands, 
which are evidently recommended to their humanity 
by the circumstance, that, inasmuch as those abuses 
are out of their reach, they are not called upon to 
redress them. It is a good suggestion to such per- 
sons, which is written where they perhaps are not 
very likely to find it, " Let them show piety at 
home." 

Speaking of reformers, our times offer a curious 
problem, and one which a future age may find it less 
difficult to solve than the present. When it is the 
glory of the age that the principle of love has been 
discovered and applied, — appHed to the hearts of 
men with a success which fills the world Avith won- 
der ; when the world, after hammering on evils for 
some thousand years in the vain endeavor to over- 
come them with evil, has tried the experiment of 
overcoming them with good, and has found that it can 
be triumphantly done, — how happens it that many 
who pass for reformers are perpetually using lan- 
guage and breathing out a spirit which it would be 
painfully ridiculous to regard as a manifestation of 
love ? It would be hard to tell what such persons 
have ever succeeded in reforming. Still they insist 
upon their theory ; and, when they find that evils 



MARGARET. 389 

only stand the firmer, and that the clear judgment 
of mankind is not with them, so far from suspecting 
the soundness of their principles, they turn in wrath 
on their cooler advisers, representing them as the 
abettors and upholders of all the wrongs which they 
are striving to overthrow. The truth seems to be, 
that such persons are but half aAvakened to the 
truth. They have gone far enough in the right di- 
rection to see the guilt and danger of existing evils, 
but not to reach the faintest comprehension of the 
spirit of Christian love. Suddenly startled from their 
indifference, they have been impatient to do some- 
thing, and, Avithout reflecting whether they could do 
any good, have dashed hastily into any door of re- 
form which stood open near them. Passion supplied 
the place of humanity, which had not yet risen in 
their hearts ; and, as no other objects of wrath were 
near them, they fastened with teeth and nails on their 
neighbors who Avere standing quietly at their side. 
While others cannot see very clearly the good they 
are accomplishing, they look upon their own exploits 
with singular satisfaction, as every cock in the morn- 
ing doubtless exults in believing that the day never 
would have broken but for him. We do not mean 
to class our author with these grotesque reformers, 
who bear no great resemblance to apostles, except it 
be that their language is somewhat hke Peter's when 
he asseverated that he did not know his Master. 
Something of their want of reverence for the Scrip- 
tures may be traced in him ; but he has not their 
strong personal reasons for hostihty to the ninth com- 
mandment. Without their harshness and violence, 

33*^ 



390 MARGARET. 

he fails in general sympathy for others, and therefore 
awakens little in them. This, indeed, is one of the 
chief faults in the book, — a kind of hardness that 
runs through it. When it pleads the true cause of 
humanity, it gives no impression of tenderness ; it 
breathes out an intellectual philanthropy ; its foun- 
tains do not seem to spring in the heart. 

We say so much of reformers, because the chief 
apparent object of this work is to present an exam- 
ple of social reform, the scene of which is a village 
where the general tone of morals and manners was 
coarse, selfish, and vicious ; more so, we imagine, 
than it could have been anywhere in Nev/ Eng- 
land, even at the close of the Revolution ; though 
it was the fact, that the difficulties and disasters of 
the war left their marks behind them for many a 
weary day. Industry and enterprise were sus- 
pended ; places of gossiping resort were, of course, 
frequented ; and men sought for that happiness in 
low and idle amusement, or sensual forgetfulness, 
which, in better times, they would have found in the 
successful exertion of their physical, social, and 
spiritual powers. Now, the question arises. What 
remedy can be applied to such a state of things, and 
in general to those unworthy aspects of social life 
which everywhere abound ? The inquiry is a serious 
one, and at this moment engages the deep thought 
and feeling of many earnest hearts. We do not 
speak of those absurd persons who are perpetually 
thrusting themselves before the public eye, little 
heeding the indifference and contempt with which it 
regards them ; who might be aptly represented by 



MARGARET. 391 

the widow in this book, with her quack nostrums for 
all disorders of the system ; remedies Avhich, by their 
sale, Avere beneficial to the inventor, but detrimental 
in the extreme to the victim who might be induced to 
take them. Such persons, who are sorrowful exam- 
ples of want of wisdom and power to guide them- 
selves, yearly assemble in conventions to discuss their 
plans for the world's regeneration, all of which are 
like the surgical process lately suggested for com- 
plaints of the heart, which was to take it out through 
the side, cleanse it of disease, and then replace it ; a 
process attended with the essential difficulty, that it 
would cease to go meantime and for ever. Utterly 
undismayed by objections, and case-hardened against 
derision, they wear their fool's caps with as much 
grace and grandeur as if they were royal crowns ; 
nor do they feel in the least the force of the hint dis- 
tinctly given them, that the world will mind its own 
business if they will attend to theirs. 

One thing seems common to these worthies : they 
have no confidence in the Christian religion as an 
instrument for their purposes ; and, as they evidently 
know nothing about it except the name, it is hardly 
to be expected that they should understand its power. 
This author, however, is aware that there is no power 
sufficient to this great reform, except that which 
resides in Christianity ; and his idea is, that, if it can 
be set free from the corruptions which restrain its 
energies, and brought into direct communication with 
human hearts, it will bring their powers and affec- 
tions into such full and harmonious action, that, like 
active human frames, they will resist the infection of 



392 MARGARET. 

prevailing disease, when those which lie unexerted 
will be sure to receive it, and to linger on in wasting 
decline, a burden to themselves, and losing all power 
to bless and serve their race. This is undoubtedly 
the truth ; but it is not so clear that the want of power 
is owing to the particular form in which the religion 
manifests itself, nor that it would become efficient at 
once if its forms of doctrine or service were altered. 
There are those who make too much of forms on the 
superstitious side, when they treat them as substitutes 
for duty and devotion ; and others ascribe too much 
to them on the hostile side, when they consider them 
as determining the religious character, which is 
shaped and fashioned by other influences that work 
deeper in the heart. If a portion of doctrinal forms 
were wholly corrupt and unsound, and others were 
pure from earthly admixture, it might be so. But 
this is not the case ; for every sect has its portion of 
truth : without it the sect could not have existed. 
Error is nothing but a name and a delusion ; and as 
we may see in popular fancies and superstitions, that 
no one subsists for any length of time without some 
basis of truth under it, so we find, on inquiring into 
religious systems, that each one contains some truth 
which either is not contained, or not set prominently 
forth, in the others ; and therefore, instead of bring- 
ing all to a single form by a rejection of the rest, the 
true reform would be for each to give and receive, 
each imparting what is good in its views and its 
influence to others, and cordially welcoming in return 
whatever light and inspiration they may be able to 
bestow. It must be remembered that these forms 



MARGARET. 393 

are not arbitrarily and capriciously taken up, except 
perhaps in a few cases. In general, they must have 
established themselves in the mind and heart of num- 
bers by some stronger power than that of accidental 
association. There must have been some reason for 
their first adoption, sufficient to account for their past 
and present existence. It Avill be found that they 
expressed the state of mind and heart in the com- 
munity which embraced them ; they were in accord- 
ance Avith its moral and religious condition ; and 
Avhen they cease to have this fitness, they will begin 
to perish ; they will lose all their hold on the general 
reverence and affection ; and the attempt to sustain 
them, in a vain traditional existence, will seem as 
useless and unnatural as to detain a corpse from the 
grave. 

We cannot conceive how any one can fail to see 
the truth on this subject, when he observes what is 
passing in the Christian world. There is no danger 
of any permanent harm from religious forms or par- 
ties, when all that their friends can do will hardly 
keep them in existence. It is evident they are under, 
the operation of an unseen law, which ordains, that, 
like the red leaves of autumn, when they have ceased 
to answer the purpose of their existence, they shall 
pass away. We see the most liberal, as they are 
called, those which allow so much individual indepen- 
dence that they have hardly sufficient cohesion to call 
themselves one, as fervor extends itself among them, 
are like cold water when heat is applied to it, going 
off in the shape of steam, — not dangerous, as when 
confined in cylinders, but quietly spreading in the 



394 MARGARET. 

air, and finding its place in the clouds ; while those 
which are held more firmly together by party interest 
and attraction, and therefore are gathered into larger 
masses, at the moment when they are exulting in 
their power and success, become aware of an air- 
slaking process going on Avithin them, bursting them 
at first into huge fragments, which defy all attempts at 
re-union, and are themselves fast crumbling into a 
general heap of dust. If religious forms ever had 
much influence upon the times, the times have now 
the upper hand, and will take ample vengeance, if 
ever they have suffered wrong. To us it seems clear 
that the religious forms and systems in the day and 
the village which our author describes existed not in 
defiance of light and truth, but simply because the 
community was not ripe for any other ; and, had a 
better one been proposed to them, it would not have 
been estimated or even understood. These forms, 
which are the rallying points of sects and parties, are 
seen in various lights and relations, as the adherents 
to them advance or remain stationary. There is no 
longer any singleness of views, and, of course, there 
ceases to be any singleness of feeling. Hence it 
results, that every such association contains the prin- 
ciple of decay within itself: it will bide its time ; but 
the eye of the sharp observer, when he traces the 
first small seam creeping through its walls, though it 
gives neither alarm nor warning to the inhabitants, 
knows that it cannot be long before its end shall 
come. 

But suppose that these forms Avere as important as 
some believe them ; suppose that they really exerted 



MARGARET. 395 

a controlling influence for good or for evil on those 
who live under them ; suppose it Avere possible to 
remove at pleasure those which we disapprove. How 
shall their place be supplied ? The Quaker, though 
a deadly enemy to fashion, must have his garments, 
and his resistance ends in adopting a fashion of his 
own. So those who exclaim most fiercely against 
these religious forms must have some drapery for 
the religious sentiment ; and the question is, What 
shall it be ? Our author, in the conclusion of his 
Avork, appears to have had it in view to present a 
system of his own, to which we have no particular 
objection, except that it is his own ; in other words, 
it is not one that most Christians would accept as a 
means of inspiring or expressing their religious feel- 
ing. Like most other suggestions of the kind, it is 
made only in the spirit of opposition to the old sys- 
tem : it mistakes reverse of Avrong for right ; and, 
when considered as a plan proposed for general 
adoption, it is liable to the fatal objection, that there 
is no prevailing state of mind standing ready to give 
it welcome. The only true course to be pursued by 
those who would introduce great social improve- 
ments is to adopt as a basis the existing state of 
things. By gradual approach and correction, changes 
may be made Avhich shall amount at last to a revo- 
lutionary, and, all the while, an unconscious, reform ; 
whereas, the friend of humanity who exalts himself 
over the darkness of those around him, and calls on 
them, with pert flippancy or passionate defiance, to 
become as wise as he is, and to despise all the pre- 
sent objects of their reverence, is answered Avith 



396 MARGARET. 

such a quiet intimation as the Jews gave to Herod 
when he proposed to rebuild their temple, that, before 
they suffered him to remove a stick of the old build- 
ing, they should like to see him provide, not only the 
plan, but the materials and resources, for the new. 

On the whole, we think that this is a matter which 
necessarily arranges itself; that is, it is determined 
by causes and influences not under the immediate 
control of human effort, and therefore not to be 
changed at will. Where the religious principle does 
not exist, no outward forms of doctrine or service 
will create it ; and, where it does exist in strength 
and sincerity, it breaks through them at once, and 
acts independently of them. If there is any want of 
harmony between Christianity itself and its forms, 
the form may be left standing till it perhaps sinks in 
decay ; but the religious principle will be as free in 
its range and action as if no form was there. It is 
easy to see, in a great proportion of cases, why these 
forms are prized and cherished with such fond de- 
votion. With many, the respect is traditional, and 
taken at second-hand from their friends or fathers ; 
but, when they choose for themselves, we can see 
something in their temperainent, character, or habits 
of thought and feeling, which inclines them to those 
views and sects with which they will most readily 
assimilate. And this tendency will not be changed 
by the strongest demonstration we can give them of 
the error of their way ; for they feel that it is natural 
and beneficial to their hearts, if not to ours. Whether 
we hke it or not, we must reconcile ourselves to this 
state of things : so it ever has been, and so it will 



MARGARET. 397 

continue to be. But we may find some comfort in 
reflecting that the spirit of truth is not confined to 
any party, nor is it necessarily excluded from any. 
Whenever it exists in power, it is the same in every 
party, — the same in every breast. 

The author makes hostile demonstrations against 
some institutions which are held in general regard ; 
against the Sabbath of New England, for example, 
which so many desire to replace with a Sabbath of 
their own invention, and Avhich is naturally enough 
regarded by those Avho are unaccustomed to it as a 
heavy and uninteresting day. There is no doubt, 
that, in former times, it was observed with a severity 
which would not consist with our feelings. This 
writer has given a representation of it as it was half 
a century ago, showing the general sense of rehef 
which pervaded all hearts, particularly those of the 
children of the community, when the Sabbath sun 
went down. But does he suppose that the day, with 
all its gloom, was forced upon our fathers against 
nature, and in defiance of their taste and choice ? 
On the contrary, it was a true expression of their 
taste and feeling ; and it came into that tragically 
solemn form, and stood fast in their reverence, be- 
cause their hearts pronounced it good. It is true, 
that a change in the character and feeling of the 
community was taking place at the period which this 
Avriter so well describes ; and he is perfectly right in 
representing them as groaning under its severe re- 
straints, and submitting to it as a heavy burden, 
because, when it had ceased to be in harmony with 
their prevailing spirit, it could no longer do them 
34 



398 MARGARET. 

good as before. It is when in this transition-state 
that he describes it ; when it was changing from a 
Judaical stagnation into the interested thoughtfuhiess 
and cheerful devotion in which the Sabbath is now 
spent by those who observe it best. Much specula- 
tive wisdom is expended on this subject by some of 
the lights of our day ; sundry doctors maintaining 
that every day should be a Sabbath, and not appear- 
ing to be at all aware that it may result from this 
principle, if admitted, not that the Sabbath should be 
dispensed with, but, on the contrary, that it should 
send its influence through the week, making every 
day like itself, — a result which, we imagine, will 
not soon come to pass in the history of those who 
hold it in light esteem. As for the foolishness of 
their preaching who maintain that it ought to be 
given to recreation, as it is in some other lands, it is 
enough to say, that a fiddling and dancing Sabbath 
might be very much to their taste, but would be 
rejected with scorn by every enlightened and thought- 
ful people. What we need is a day of rest to the 
body in favor of the mind and heart ; and it is be- 
cause the Sabbath answers to this Avant of our nature, 
that it exists and will endure, defying all attempts 
that can be made to displace it from the reverence 
and affection of cultivated men. We are glad to 
see that the hostility of this writer turns only against 
its errors and abuses, and that his ideal is one in 
which all serious persons would agree. "It is the 
Lord's day to us : in the most exalted sense, it is 
Christ's own day. All days are holy: this is the 
cream of the week. On the spiritual river where 



MARGARET. 399 

we would ever sail, the Sabbath opens into clearer 
water, a broader bay ; and we can rest on our oars 
to get a distincter view of the heavenly hills whither 
we tend." 

In one passage of his work, the Sabbath as it was 
is brought full before us by a few touches of beauti- 
ful description : — 

" It was a Sabbath morning, a June Sabbath morning, a June 
Sabbath morning in New England. The sun rose over a hushed, 
calm world, "WTapt like a Madonna in prayer. It was The Day, 
as the Bible is The Book. It was an intersection of the natiu-al 
course of time, a break in the customary order of events, and laj' 
between, with its walls of Saturday and Sunday night on either 
side, like a chasm, or a dyke, or a mj'stical apartment, whatever 

you would please liken it to Its light, its air, its warmth, 

its sound, its sun, the shimmer of the dawn on the brass cock 
of the steeple, the look of the meeting-house itself, — all things 
were not as on other days. And now, when those old Sabbaths 
are almost gone, some latent, indefinable impression of what they 
were comes over us, and wrenches us into awe, stillness, and 
regret." — p. 101. 

While we cannot but approve the idea of the Sab- 
bath as our author has here presented it, we cannot 
say that we have equal confidence in the system of 
festivals which he has devised in his Arcadian vision ; 
not that they are inappropriate and inconsistent in 
themselves, bvit because they are not in harmony 
with the genius of our people. The same taste 
which demands and rejoices in the Sabbath, as a 
day of spiritual thoughtfulness, will not be likely to 
thirst for recreations. Pleasures are not required by 
the happy : just in proportion as the blessings of 
physical and moral existence are generally diffused 



400 MARGARET. 

and enjoyed, will such transient excitement be held 
in diminished esteem. There covild hardly be a 
severer infliction to a serious and earnest native of 
New England than to be required to enjoy himself, 
as it is called. Such a penalty might be advanta- 
geously substituted for the treadmill in our prisons ; 
for no person Avho had once suffered mider the dis- 
cipline would put himself in the way to endure it 
again. It is not that recreations are not wanted ; 
for, here as elsewhere, they are essential to the 
healthy activity of the mind and heart. But the 
same pleasures in Avhich some would disport them- 
selves luxuriously would drive others to their wit's 
end with Aveariness and disdain. iVIen must unbend 
from their severe cares ; but, should they lift up their 
voices to sing, " Away with melancholy ! " it would 
be an immediate signal for that unbidden guest to 
come. Some of the festivals here suggested would 
bring their OAvn recommendation with them ; such, 
for example, as that in the spring, when the inhabi- 
tants of the village renewed the flowers in the ceme- 
tery, transplanted ornamental trees into the streets, 
and set out shrubbery near their houses. There 
must be some object and design in a celebration, or 
it will soon lose its place in the public mind. This 
is the case already with the Fourth of July, which 
has fallen into general decline, because it has refer- 
ence solely to the past, and men do not see any good 
which its observance is likely to do. And, in the 
great proportion of days and seasons set apart for 
pleasure, there is a care-worn perplexity and solemn 
hopelessness in the expression of men's faces, which 



MARGARET. 401 

indicates, as plainly as words can do, that " the heart 
distrusting asks. Can this be joy ? " 

But, without extending these general remarks, we 
Avill proceed to say something of the literary charac- 
ter of the work, so far as it is possible to describe 
any thing so unequal, disjointed, and full of contrasts 
and contradictions. It is not a finished or satisfac- 
tory work, though it is evidently written by a man 
of uncommon ability ; nor is it pleasing, though there 
are many passages which one reads with deep in- 
terest and delight. Some of the characters are 
finely conceived, and well sustained in parts, but 
not self-consistent throughout. The style is often 
rich and expressive, and again it is slovenly, snap- 
pish, and jerking. The writer's statement of his 
ideas is sometimes clear and sharp as the outline of 
cut tin, and then shades off into that mystical nothing- 
ness in which the imagination comes out and sup- 
plies what meaning it pleases. The opinions are in 
general deliberate, manly, and forbearing ; but some- 
times they lend to that excess and exclusiveness 
which so much disgrace the religion and philanthropy 
of the present day, destroying all their loveliness, 
and disarming them of half their power. So, too, 
in his description of the effect of Christian principles, 
and the result of their application to social disorders, 
there is something elevated and inspiring ; but the 
impression left on the reader's inind is cold and for- 
bidding, and sympathy is not awakened in any pro- 
j^ortion to the strength and sincerity with which these 
great thoughts are presented. Altogether, we must 
say that we think more highly of the writer than his 

34* 



402 MARGARET. 

work. His talent is unquestionable ; but there is 
evidently something in his mental constitution, or his 
acquired habits of thought and feeling, which must 
be changed, before he can make the world acknow- 
ledge, indeed before he can make himself do justice 
to, his powers. 

On the whole, we greatly regret that the idea of 
this work, if we are sure that we understand it, had 
not been differently carried out and presented. No- 
thing could be more interesting than the picture of a 
young girl, energetic and imaginative from her birth, 
thrown among coarse and profane associates, and 
not only keeping herself from contamination, but 
maintaining a quiet superiority to the influences 
which surround her, and coming into life with a 
character formed by the agency of stronger influ- 
ences from within. That self-originated conceptions 
of the Deity and of human relations would be found 
in her heart, is not so sure ; but it might be assumed, 
and the portrait drawn accordingly ; and she might 
also have been represented as indifferent to religion, 
because of the associations of severity, gloom, and 
hollowness which had become connected with it in 
her mind from the sight of its unworthy disciples ; 
though this is not common. It is not the simple, nor 
even the sensual, but those who are looking for argu- 
ments against religion, who hold it responsible for 
what Christians are, and for all that it pleases them 
to do. If, in the moral and intellectual solitude 
where she dwelt, with unsympathizing beings around 
her, great thoughts, lofty conceptions, and heavenly 
feelings, should have arisen in her breast ; and if, 



MARGARET. 403 

when Christianity was first presented to her in its 
purity and loveliness, she should have recognized in 
it the ideal of her dreams, the beautiful mystery 
which she had all the while been learning to love, 
the finished portrait of that which she had seen in a 
glass darkly in the silent chambers of her soul ; and 
if, finding a new inspiration from this fulfilment of 
her hopes and visions, she had gone out to exert an. 
influence, by means of sympathy, on all around her, 
with no wealth to buy, nor power to overawe, im- 
pressing and interesting others, till the changed feel- 
ing and aspect of the community where she lived 
bore testimony to the wonders love can do, — we 
should have had a Avork of a character far more 
attractive and useful than the present, and offering a 
better field for the author's peculiar powers. We 
regret, therefore, that, instead of the more simple 
development of this idea, it should have been given 
in this unreal and impracticable form ; in which, be- 
sides the impression constantly made on the reader 
that no such being ever existed, the improbability is 
heightened by the language put into her mouth, — 
language which it is grievously unjust to the school- 
masters of a former generation to ascribe to their 
teaching or example, when it is only an euphuism of 
the present day, which is perfectly unaccountable in 
some able men who use it, though it answers good 
purpose to those pretenders who would cover up 
their defect of meaning with a jargon of strange 
sight and sound. We cannot tell why this author, 
who, in his own person, generally employs nervous 
and expressive terms, should have defaced his most 



404 MARGARET. 

prominent and interesting character by making her 
speak in a dialect which resembles nothing ever 
heard in the social world, and which is wholly out 
of nature in a village-girl, whatever the accidental 
circumstances of her education may have been. It 
destroys the beauty and truth of the conception ; 
Ave feel that she could have had no real existence ; 
when, but for this, and the needless touches of 
coarseness which we have mentioned, the idea of her 
character might have been original, beautiful, and 
true. 

But we have no time to dwell farther on the de- 
velopment of character in this singular book. There 
are other parts which seem more natural to the 
author's taste and habits of thought; those, for ex- 
ample, in which he describes the rich loveliness of 
the landscape, and the various influences by which 
it acts upon the heart. Here he is more at home ; 
he has a discerning eye for the wonderful variety of 
its treasures ; and he has evidently felt the power 
of those inaudible tones in which it addresses all 
who have an ear to hear them. He has noted every 
crimson berry and red leaf of autumn, and all the 
green plants and opening flowers of spring. He 
seems to be on terras of intimacy with all the birds 
of the air : from the lightest glance of a wing, or the 
faintest snatches of song, he is able to delect them 
afar. The stillness of the deep forest, grand and 
solemn in its aspect and its sounds, but abounding 
in animated existence, heavy and oppressive as it 
is to the many, is best society to him. We know 
not where any could go to find more exact and 



MARGARET. 405 

pleasing descrij3tions of the scenery of New Eng- 
land, or of the vegetable and animal forms which 
give it life, than to the work before us ; and the lan- 
guage in which he sets them forth, though he often 
invents a dialect for his purpose which would have 
startled even Noah Webster, had he lived to hear it, 
is felt to be such as one would employ who was 
gazing or listening with delight, and wanted words 
of power to express his strong emotions. To this 
part of his work, though there is some slight con- 
fusion of seasons, we give the heartiest praise. 

We wish that Ave could have found the same full 
sympathy for humanity manifested in this writer's de- 
scriptions of social life, which breathes through the 
sentiments which he expresses. Yet it is not uncom- 
mon to find this interest in social reforms, and desire 
to advance the welfare of mankind, evidently sincere 
too, in those who do not give the impression of quick 
sympathy Avith individuals. Perhaps it is, that the 
sharp observation Avhich searches out at a glance 
the Avhole of the character has a natural tendency to 
caricature ; faults and follies, even when slight and 
easily forgiven, are often so ridiculous and annoying 
as lo destroy our respect for that which well deserves 
it ; and it is on this account, perhaps, that this author, 
observing as he is, has done less justice to what is 
amiable and excellent in the character of New Eng- 
land men than might be expected in one who has 
such a taste for the beautiful and the good. His 
character is often disguised by ungracefulness of 
speech and manner ; it is very seldom ostentatiously 
paraded for applause ; still it should be visible to all 



406 MARGARET. 

clear and earnest eyes, and is a subject on which every 
heart in its right place might rejoice to dwell. 

As a representation of manners as they were, and 
in many respects are still, in New England, this book 
is of great value. It is a succession of pictures, full 
of life, and though somewhat overdrawn, not the less 
giving life-like imaginations of many scenes which 
Avill soon cease to be. Such is the " Training-day," 
which was formerly a high festival, but has lost much 
of its hold on the reverence and affection of the peo- 
ple ; and there is little prospect that its former glory 
will ever be restored. We think our author makes 
rather too much of our militia-system, not in the way 
of excessive interest, but rather on the opposite side. 
It does not strike us, that our train-bands are much in 
danger of breaking the sixth commandment; blood 
and carnage are not the associations connected in our 
minds with their exhibitions ; as Miss Martineau says 
of them, everybody knows that they can fight when 
they see reason, but we do not think them more likely 
to rush into the battle from their indulging in this 
harmless and peaceable display. 

There was danger of another sort formerly con- 
nected with these celebrations, which was indeed 
more serious, and under which many went down to 
rise no more. The author has given a strong de- 
scription of the excitement and intemperance of those 
occasions in former days. The latter vice, which was 
once so general, or rather the means of which were 
then so general, furnishes a frequent theme for sar- 
castic remark and severe description. There are 
very few passages anywhere more powerful than the 



MARGARET. 407 

account of the dark and hateful " still." The poor 
child left alone in such a place at night, Avith an 
intoxicated brother, a roaring furnace, a hissing cal- 
dron, barrels of detestable drink all round her, and 
frightful shadows thrown by the angry fire, which, 
fed by dry hemlock, sounded like subterranean mus- 
ketry, and threw out burning splinters on her sleep- 
ing brother's face, — are brought before us as by a 
master's hand. But, while we entirely approve the 
tone in which he speaks on this subject at large, we 
think he has fallen into the error so common wilh 
communities and individuals when suddenly re- 
formed, — that of representing their former state 
as worse than it really was. Bad enough in con- 
science it was ; but New England was not quite 
transformed into one vast bar-rbora. Many, many 
there were who walked unhurt amidst the flames ; 
and the inspiring manner in which the general feeling 
rose against the destroyer, and the energy of will 
exerted to resist it, showed that the heart of the peo- 
ple was still sound, and there was hope for the days 
to come. 

With respect to another great evil, war, which, as 
the author shows, is not according to the spirit of the 
gospel, we do not think his course in the narrative 
so happy. His feeling is earnestly opposed to this 
practice, not only as a desolating evil, but a deadly 
sin. But an onslaught upon the militia is not the 
sort of crusading expedition which is likely to reach 
it : not only the town of Livingston, but the whole 
country, might be exempted from military duty, 
without any approach to that state of peace and 



403 MARGARET. 

general good-Avill which Christianity is destined to 
bring. But this subject seems in a way to be 
brought up as a theme for intelhgent and interested 
discussion : instead of being taken into the keeping 
of a party, it will be investigated by active and 
powerful minds. The public will at length be firmly 
established in some convictions which will affect the 
proceedings of nations ; a Avork which the feeling of 
a sect would never be able to do. The duty of not 
resisting evil, — how far does it go ? Is the Saviour's 
charge, " Resist not evil," to be understood like 
another near it, " Give to him that asketh thee" ? or 
is it to be followed in full, and without reserve ? 
Ilave we a right to resist evil with our tongues, 
while our hands are bound ? or may we take com- 
fort in our self-denial, by abusing others with the 
hardest words which the language affords ? Does 
this obligation extend only to cases in which life is 
concerned ? and what gives the right to deprive 
others of liberty, while the life may not be taken 
away ? If evil may not be resisted in one way, can 
it be in another ? and, if not, how is any social sys- 
tem to hold together for a day ? These are ques- 
tions, lying under this matter, Avhich need to be 
patiently sifted, and made clear to the public mind, 
before it can reach a full understanding of this whole 
subject of war. And, since no partial views will 
accomplish any thing more than imperfect reforms, 
it is well that this subject is not likely to be chaired 
like a candidate at an English election, but debated 
wisely and without passion by manly and indepen- 
dent minds. 



MARGARET. 409 

The subject of capital punishment, which is of 
near kindred to the former, is here introduced in the 
fate of Chilion, the early friend of Margaret, whom 
she had always regarded as a brother. His charac- 
ter is finely sustained throughout, except in the single 

incident — for it could hardly be called an action 

which brought his life to a close. A husking frolic, 
the festival which answers to the harvest-home of 
other countries, was followed by a supper, which is 
the greatest failure in all the work. The revels 
ended in furious intoxication ; and Chilion, seeing a 
young man apparently offering some insult to Mar- 
garet, and urged on by the reproaches of Rose, who 
had drunk something more than the dews of night, 
threw a file at the offender, which severed an artery 
of his neck, and inflicted a wound of which he bled 
to death. The author found a jury, though to a 
sheriff it might have been a difficult matter, who 
brought in a verdict of wilful murder, and the judge 
pronounced the sentence of the law. There are 
some natural and affecting scenes in the prison, but 
we cannot say so much of the condemnation : it is 
ruined by the unnatural talk of Margaret in her 
raving, which falls like ice upon the reader's excited 
feeling. But the question of capital punishment is 
not reached by such an imaginary case as this. 
Evidently nothing could be more absurd than such 
a penalty inflicted on such a person, where it was 
obvious that he could not have intended to give a 
fatal wound. The question is, whether capital 
punishment can be dispensed with. It is not to the 
purpose to say, that " the worst use you can put a 
35 



410 MARGARET. 

man to is to hang him ; " for this, though doubtless 
a smart saying, would apply equally well to shutting 
him up in a jail. When the truth is made clear that 
this fearful penalty does not answer its purpose, or 
that some others can be resorted to instead of it, the 
public mind will be ready to surrender it ; but, if this 
is not done, it must endure till it is displaced by the 
advance of civilization, which has many remains of 
barbarism yet hanging round it, but will sooner or 
later lose all its taste for blood. 

If the impressions of the readers of this book are 
like ours, they have thought the author superior to 
his Avork ; which, though it abounds in proofs of 
talent, has many things that to some must impair, to 
others utterly destroy, its attraction. If he is one of 
those who feel no respect for prevailing sentiments in 
matters of taste, he may persist in his own way, 
which, as it is now, will not lead him to a throne 
in men's minds and hearts. But if he will pay 
deference to established modes of communication, 
which, though they might be improved, are at 
present the only channels through which extensive 
influence can be exerted, he may gain for himself a 
brilliant reputation, and, what is more to his purpose, 
he may be a powerful and successful instrument for 
bringing about those reforms which he evidently has 
at heart, and which will be triumphantly accom- 
plished in happier days than ours. 



POETRY. 



POETRY. 



TO THE MEMORY OF A YOUNG LADY, 



SEEN FOR THE FIRST TIME ON A SPRING MORNING. 



I LOVE the memory of the hour 

When first in youth I found thee ; 
For infant beauty gently threw 

A morning freshness round thee. 
A single star was rising then 

"With mild and lovely motion. 
And scarce the zephyr's mildest breath 

Went o'er the sleeping ocean. 

I love the memory of that hour : 

It wakes a pensive feeling. 
As when within the winding shell 

The playful winds are stealing. 
It tells my heart of those bright years 

Ere hope went down in sorrow. 
When all the joys of yesterday 

Were painted on to-morrow. 
35* 



414 TO THE MEMORY OF A YOUNG LADY. 

Where art thou now ? Thy once-loved flowers 

Their yellow leaves are twining, 
And bright and beautiful again 

That single star is shining. 
But where art thou ? The bended grass 

A dewy stone discloses, 
And love's light footsteps print the ground 

Whers all my peace reposes. 

Farewell ! my tears are not for thee : 

'Twere weakness to deplore thee. 
Or vainly mourn thine absence here, 

While angels half adore thee. 
Thy days were few, and quickly told ; 

Thy short and mournful story 
Hath ended like the morning star. 

That melts in deeper glory. 

1816. 



415 



THE DEPARTURE. 



How slow and peacefully the broad red moon 
Glides down the bending sky ! All still ! 
She seems to smile upon those sounding waves 
That lift their thundering voices to the heaven. 
As if they mourned her solitude of march 
Above the waste of waters. But now she leans 
Upon their breast, and pours her liberal ray : 
The distant mountains drink the yellow light. 
The dark-red rocks extend their giant-shades, 
Long paths of glory kindle in the deep. 
And there far-shadowed on the sea-beat shore 
The silent forests on their aged head 
Receive the glittering crown ; or, dimly seen. 
Some small white sail flings up an airy glance, 
And smiles a light farewell. 

The lantern glimmers on the distant beach ; 
The barge stands waiting for its outward flight ; 
Those hurrying forms exchange a short embrace ; 
Some as in sorrow slowly move away, 
While others leap with gay and youthful bound 
Where the shrill whistle loudly calls away 
To the wide ocean, their familiar home. 
The light boat dances by the unbending side 
Of that black ship that sideway slowly swings ; 
Her streamers winding in the playful breeze. 
Her broad sail heaving in the midnight air. 



416 THE DEPARTURE. 

And who is she, the lovely form, that leans 
Intensely gazing on the weltering waves ? 
Is it that, musing on their stormy play 
In the forge tfulness of youthful joy. 
Her home, her friends, her country, all depart ? 
Or, in the anguish of the parting hour, 
Dares she not even indulge in one last glance 
Where the still moonbeam in its dewy light 
Sleeps on the boundary of the far-off hills ? 
Within the friendly circle of those hills. 
For ever open to the smile of heaven, 
She leaves a peaceful home. 

There, in the freshness of the youthful spring, 
Together we have drunk the, gales of morn, 
When we have followed the new-opened flower, 
Our light steps dashing from the bended grass 
The dew-drops reddening in the rising sun. 
When Autumn hung upon the dying year 
Her pensive wreath so wild, so fanciful ; 
Together we have marked the evening cloud, 
When the bright ridges of the western hill 
Seemed slowly melting in the burning heaven ; 
Together we have watched the star of love 
Walking with lonely step the silent blue, 
Before the deep-thronged armies of the night 
Began their pathway up the glowing skies. 
Oh ! there was rapture in that pensive hour. 
There was deep harmony in nature's silence ; 
For angels breathe their anthems on the heart. 
That walks its circle on the waves of life, 
As peacefully as thine. 

There, in the winter night, 



THE DEPARTURE. 417 

The deep storm, rushing on the sounding blast, 
Howls round the windows of thy former home. 
"Within, the embers cast a fitful glow ; 
The tall shade trembles on the dusky wall, 
And the red fire-light on each cheerful face 
Paints the calm lines of innocence and peace. 
One chair is vacant ! how it wakes the thought 
That hurries onward to the ocean-stream, 
And swiftly follows in thy venturous way, 
Till from the rapture of the dream we wake. 
Wondering thou art not there : and when we bow 
With reverent heart, and raise the nightly prayer 
When the fond soul bears all its loves to heaven, 
We breathe thy name with many a fond desire 
That He whose spirit is on the stormy wave. 
Who rules the heaven, and dwells in virtuous hearts, 
Would still remember thee. 

Oft at night. 
In the wild fancies of the troubled sleep. 
When rosy-fingered spirits wind the dream 
Around the slumberer's heart, thy well-known bark 
With homeward step shall walk the joyous waves, 
And dash the kindling spray ; the mariner 
Breathe in the freshness of his native airs, 
And pour the fulness of his grateful heart 
In the inspiring song : thou too art there. 
Thy dark hair floating on the morning wind. 
Thy bright eye fixed with long and burning gaze 
On thy dear native home ; then, while I mark 
The passionate laugh, the recognizing glance, 
The airy vessel calmly melts away. 
Then the black terrors of the storm arise, 
Waked by the echoes of the angry sea ; 



418 THE DEPARTURE. 

The lightning-flash throws wide its gusty light, 
The deep-mouthed thunder rolls its rattling wheels, 
A far-off cry expires upon the seas ! 
Was it the music of the passing bell 
Swelling the cadence of the dying gale ? 
A shade at first ; but now, too plainly seen. 
She floats upon the white edge of the wave ; 
The morning light is on her marble face ; 
The wind lifts playfully her flowing hair 
In gay embrace ; .her pale extended arm, 
Heaved with the rolling of the element, 
Invites me with a slow mysterious motion, 
How dreadful in the eloquence of death ! 
As in the ruins of that lovely form 
Afifection lingered still. But thou, my friend, 
Whom we lament with unavailing tears, 
Art numbered in the heaven : no tear profane, 
No sad remembrance, lingers there to dim 
Thine own excelling glory. 

Only a dream ! and thou mayest still return 

To that loved home, whose well-remembered charms 

Long years of absence have not worn away : 

But the warm friends of youth shall not be there. 

And strange inhabitants shall coldly tell 

How the old tenants of that happy place 

Have closed their eyes in peace ; their parting breath 

Spent in last blessings on their favorite child, 

On her, the far-away ; and he, the one 

Who heard the accents of thy last farewell, 

And loved thee with a never-failing love, 

Went to the grave alone. 



419 



LINES ON DYING. 



My hour is come ; but no unthought-of hour, 

Whose gloomy presence chills my soul with dread. 

It steals as gently o'er my weary heart, 

As the fond parent's footsteps round the cradle 

Where innocent beauty sleeps. I've looked for it 

Since the first opening of my youthful mind : 

Sometimes in hours of gladness would the thought. 

Calmly as angels' voices heard in dreams. 

Forbid the unmeaning laugh of careless joy. 

And melt each feeling into pensive sadness. 

Sometimes in midnight musings, when the soul 

Was weary of existence, it would come 

In many a flash of wild and strange delight. 

I found no pleasure in the youthful spring, 

Nor the bright kindlings of the morning cloud ; 

My spirit lingered on the waning year, 

On the last blushes of the sunset heaven, 

And the red leaf that whispered it must fall. 

I loved to gaze on beauty, — but 'twas not 

The airy form, and features bright with smiles. 

But the pale cheek where death had gently laid 

His first light touch, and left it lovely still. 

I've lain for hours beneath the aged tree 

That casts its shadow o'er the homes of death. 

When evening sunshine slept on every leaf. 

And all around was still ; I've marked the graves, 

Some nameless as I would my own should be, 



420 LINES ON DYING. 

Some graved with all the high parade of death, 

Some with low stones and moss fast creeping o'er them, 

As cold oblivion gathers o'er the names 

Of those who rest below ; then I dismissed 

Life and its changes from my heart awhile, 

And thought of death till it became familiar. 

I thought the humblest unremembered one 

Was laid there with a sigh, — some with warm tears, 

Some with the grief that time could never heal. 

With love enduring as the aching heart, 

Whose love became despair ; and could it be. 

That souls once full of high and heavenly musing. 

Souls that could chain affection to their graves. 

Were mingling with the dust that closed them in ? 

No : the long grass springs yearly from their bed, 

The violet there renews its tender flower. 

And sure the image of the heavenly nature 

Is durable as they : oh ! you may close the coffin, 

Heap high the earth upon their breast, or bind 

The rocky arches of the ponderous tomb ; 

The soul will burst its bondage, — yes, will smile 

At those memorials man felt bound to raise. 

While it springs upward to its native home. 

Oft in its loneliest watches of the night, 
When silence rested on the slumbering Avorld, 
When the leaf stirred not ; but, serene in heaven. 
The moon and stars went on their glorious way. 
And the winds dared not breathe while earth lay still, 
And wondered at their beauty, — I have thought 
If, when the weary cares of life are ended. 
My spirit might have rest in fields of light, 
And dwell in mansions calm and blest as they. 
Why might it not ? 'tis clay that binds it down. 



LIXES ON DYING. 421 

But oft even now the spirit throws off its chains, 
And hurries upward through the vast of heaven, 
Beyond heaven's utmost bounds, — even now it ranges 
Beyond the farthest star, whose fainting ray 
Seems trembling into darkness, and borrows thence 
Emotions deep and strong imaginings. 
With thoughts more beautiful than earth affords, 
And finds a friend in each bright wanderer there. 

Then surely when the bands of clay are loosed, 
And the strong prison of the soul is broken. 
It will rise high above its boldest flight, 
Above its cares, above its joys and sorrows ; 
And rest not till it breathes the heavenly air. 
And folds its pinions at the throne of God. 

Then welcome death ! the valley's clods are sweet. 
The once faint heart is mightier than the grave. 
Lay me to rest beneath the aged tree 
Which many a year hath bent its hoary head 
In musing o'er those small round hills of green, 
While many a ruin of the form divine. 
The young and beautiful, the old and gray, 
Have sunk in frailty at the glance of death. 
And hands as frail have borne them to their rest. 
There oft I went at evening's hour of peace. 
Looked o'er the field so widely ridged with graves, 
And sadly pondered what it is to die. 

Years have passed by : the ground is even now ; 
But there I fain would lay me down to sleep 
Where no rude foot shall break the holy calm, 
No sound be wakeful- but the night-wind's sigh 
When the red leaves are withering on my bed. 
36 



422 LINES OxN DYING. 

There the cold moon shall pour her gilding light, 
And star-beams glimmer through the twining boughs, 
Above his rest who loved their beauty well. 

The humblest one receives a farewell sigh, 
And my departure may call forth a tear ; 
For in this dark world man can weep for man. 
But let no pageant of unmeaning grief, 
No mourning train, in all the pride of sorrow, 
Go with my ashes to their place of rest ; 
And let no stone oppress them : years may pass, 
And friends forget where they have laid me down ; 
But let me never raise the marble prayer 
To ask remembrance from the stranger's heart, 
"When love grows cold, and tears have ceased to flow. 

1822. 



423 



THE LAND OF THE BLEST. 



Oh ! when the hours of life are past. 
And death's dark shadow falls at last, 
It is not sleep, it is not rest : 
'Tis glory opening to the blest. 

Their way to heaven was pure from sin, 
And Christ shall then receive them in ; 
There each shall wear a robe of light. 
Like his, divinely fair and bright. 

There parted hearts again shall meet 
In union holy, calm, and sweet ; 
There grief find rest, and never more 
Shall sorrow call them to deplore. 

There angels shall unite their prayers 
With spirits bright and blest as theirs ; 
And light shall glance on every crown. 
From suns that never more go down. 

No storms shall ride the troubled air. 
No voice of passion enter there ; 
But all be peaceful as the sigh 
Of evening gales that breathe and die. 

For there the God of mercy sheds 
His purest influence on their heads. 
And gilds the spirits round the throne 
With glory radiant as his own. 



424 



THE RISING MOON. 



The moon is up ! how calm and slow 

She wheels above the hill ! 
The weary Avinds forget to blow, 

And all the world lies still. 

The way-worn travellers with delight 

Her rising brightness see ; 
Revealing all the paths and plains, 

And gilding every tree. 

It glistens where the hurrying stream 

Its little rippling heaves ; 
It falls upon the forest-shade, 

And sparkles on the leaves. 

So once on Judah's evening hills 
The heavenly lustre spread ; 

The gospel sounded from the blaze, 
And shepherds gazed with dread. 

And still that light upon the world 
Its guiding splendor throws, 

Bright in the opening hours of life. 
And brighter at the close. 

The waning moon in time shall fail 
To walk the midnight skies ; 

But God hath kindled this bright light 
With fire that never dies. 



425 



AUTUMN EVENING. 



Behold the western evening light ! 

It melts in deepening gloom : 
So calmly Christians sink away, 

Descending to the tomb. 

The wind breathes low ; the withering leaf 
Scarce whispers from the tree : 

So gently flows the parting breath, 
When good men cease to be. 

How beautiful on all the hills 

The crimson light is shed ! 
'Tis like the peace the Christian gives 

To mourners round his bed. 

How mildly on the wandering cloud 

The sunset beam is cast ! 
'Tis like the memory left behind 

When loved ones breathe their last. 

And now above the dews of night 

The yellow star appears : 
So faith springs in the hearts of those 

Whose eyes are bathed in tears. 

But soon the morning's happier light 

Its glory shall restore ; 
And eyelids that are sealed in death 

Shall wake to close no more. 
36* 



426 



LAMENT OF ANASTASIUS. 



The idea of tlie following lines is taken from that beautiful passage in 
" Anastasius," in which he is represented lamenting the death of his child 
Alexis : — 

It was but yesterday, my love, thy little heart beat high, 
And I had scorned the warning voice that told me thou 

must die ; 
I saw thee move with active bound, with spirits light and 

free, 
And infant grace and beauty gave their glorious charm to 

thee. 

Upon the dewy field I saw thine early footsteps fly, 
Unfettered as the matin bird that cleaves the radiant 

sky; 
And often as the sunrise gale blew back thy shining 

hair. 
Thy cheek displayed the red-rose tinge that health had 

painted there. 

Then, withered as my heart had been, I could not but 

rejoice 
To hear upon the morning wind the music of thy voice. 
Now echoing in the careless laugh, now melting down to 

tears : 
'Twas like the sounds I used to hear in old and happier 

years. 



LAMENT OF ANASTASIUS. 427 

Thanks for that memory to thee, my lovely little boy ! 
'Tis all remains of former bliss that care cannot destroy ; 
I listened, as the mariner suspends the out-bound oar 
To taste the farewell gale that blows from off his native 
shore. 

I loved thee, and my heart was blest ; but, ere the day was 

spent, 
I saw thy light and graceful form in drooping illness bent, 
And shuddered as I cast a look upon the fainting head. 
For all the glow of health was gone, and life was almost 

fled. 

One glance upon thy marble brow made known that hope 

was vain ; 
I knew the swiftly Avasting lamp would never light again ; 
Thy cheek was pale, thy snow-white lips were gently 

thrown apart. 
And life in every passing breath seemed gushing from the 

heart. 

And, when I could not keep the tear from gathering in 

my eye. 
Thy little hand prest gently mine in token of reply ; 
To ask one more exchange of love, thy look was upward 

cast, 
And in that long and burning kiss thy happy sjiirit passed. 

I trusted I should not have lived to bid farewell to thee, 
And nature in my heart declares it ought not so to be ; 
I hoped that thou within the grave my weary head should 

lay. 
And live beloved when I was gone for many a happy 

day. 



428 LAMENT OF ANASTASIUS. 

With trembling hand I vainly tried thy dying eyes to 

close, 
And how I envied in that hour thy calm and deep repose ! 
For I was left alone on earth, with pain and grief opprest ; 
And thou wert with the sainted, where the weary are at 

rest. 

Yes ! I am left alone on earth ; but I will not repine 
Because a spirit loved so well is earlier blest than mine : 
My fate may darken as it will, I shall not much deplore, 
Since thou art where the ills of life can never reach thee 
more. 

1823. 



429 



TO A YOUNG LADY, 

ON KliCEIVING A PRESENT OF FLOWERS, WHICH SHE CALLED 
EMBLEMS OF FRIENDSHIP. 



I THxVNK you, my dearest : 'twas kind to send 
A proof of love to your faithful friend ; 
And, though I have long since learned to fear. 
From the hard- won lesson of many a year, 
That the faithless heart very seldom shares 
In the language of feeling the tongue declares, 
I will still believe, that, at least in youth. 
There may be a union of friendship and truth. 

Besides, I am glad to see the flowers ; 
They remind my heart of its greener hours, 
When all the present, the future, and past 
Were a vision of pleasure too bright to last. 
Emblems of friendship they may be now ; 
They are torn away from their parent bough ; 
But they were not so when they used to stand 
Beneath the care of a lovely hand, 
And seemed as if grateful and proud to shed 
Their fragrance round on their native bed ; 
And the light breeze whispered its joy to bear 
Their perfume away to the evening air. 

They are like friendship, when noon-day showers 
Have torn them down from their native bowers ; 



430 TO A YOUNG LADY. 

"When cold and withered their branches lie 

In the careless steps of the passer-by : 

Or when the maiden delights to wear 

Their green in the wreaths of her braided hair. 

To brighten her charms on some festive day ; 

And then like a friend to be cast away, 

Or folded down in some holy book, 

In which she is never again to look : 

Or given away to some favored youth, 

In the silent language he takes for truth ; 

To be worn and worshipped, and fondly pressed 

By day and night to his foolish breast ; 

Till he finds that the flowers will be blooming on. 

When the love that gave them is long since gone ; 

And their beauty may perish whenever it will ; 

The flowers of the heart may be frailer still. 

'Tis the fault of nature ; for ask your heart, 
If its own warm feelings do not depart ; 
If it never breathed a delighted vow 
To friends it will scarcely remember now : 
And yet in yourself you do not condemn 
The change of feeling you censure in them. 
Oh ! no ; for friendship will not be true ; 
And the radiant star of the morning dew, 
Which the zephyr dries with its gentle wing, 
Is as brilliant, as fair, and as vain a thing. 

I've seen the gaze of an altered eye. 

And the hand held from me I knew not why ; 

I've heard the footsteps of friends who fled, 

AVhen sickness hung over my weary bed ; 

And I thought that the heart might be warmed as soon 

By the last cold ray of the waning moon. 



TO A YOUNG LADY. 431 

I would trust as soon to the meteor-spark 
That misled the course of the shipwrecked bark, 
As confide in the perjured, betraying kiss 
That friendship gives in a world like this. 

But they were not all, — and while they were changed, 
There were some whose feeling no time estranged ; 
Whose words of kindness were true to the last, 
As the leaf endures when summer is past. 

Then, if there is friendship which can be true, 

May its best affections be pledged to you ! 

If there are hearts you love to cherish. 

If there are feelings that will not perish. 

May they strew their blessings around your way, 

From this morning hour to your latest day ! 

If the hope that before you so bright appears. 

Has risen in smiles to go down In teetrs : 

If the star of promise, that blazes high, 

Be quenched in the clouds of a stormy sky ; 

May a hand as true, and more dear than mine, 

Be near to support you in life's decline, 

Till you reach the mansions of heavenly rest, 

Where friends unite, and their loves are blest ! 

1824. 



432 



M O N A D N O C K. 



Upon the far-off mountain's brow 

The angry storm has ceased to beat, 
And broken clouds are gathering now 

In lowly reverence round his feet. 
I saw their dark and crowded bands 

On his firm head in wrath descending ; 
But there, once more redeemed, he stands, 

And heaven's clear arch is o'er him "bending 

I've seen him wherx uYe rising sun 

Shone like a watch-fire on the height ; 
I'Y'd seen him when the day was done. 

Bathed in the evening's crimson light ; 
I've seen him in the midnight hour, 

"When all the world beneath were sleeping, 
Like some lone sentry in his tower 

His patient watch in silence keeping. 

And there, as ever steep and clear. 

That pyramid of Nature springs ! 
He owns no rival turret near. 

No sovereign but the King of kings : 
"While many a nation hath passed by. 

And many an age unknown in story, 
His walls and battlements on high 

He rears in melancholy glory. 



MONADNOCK. 433 

And let a world of human pride 

With all its grandeur melt away, 
And spread around his rocky side 

The broken fragments of decay ; 
Serene his hoary head will tower. 

Untroubled by one thought of sorrow : 
He numbers not the weary hour ; 

He welcomes not nor fears to-morrow. 

Farewell ! I go my distant way : 

Perhaps, not far in future years. 
The eyes that glow with smiles to-day 

May gaze upon thee dim with tears. 
Then let me learn from thee to rise, 

All time and chance and change defying, 
Still pointing upward to the skies, 

And on the inward strength relying. 

If life before my weary eye 

Grows fearful as the angry sea, 
Thy memory shall suppress the sigh 

For that which never more can be ; 
Inspiring all within the heart 

"With firm resolve and strong endeavor 
To act a brave and faithful part, 

Till life's short warfare ends for ever. 

1824. 



37 



434 



ON SEEING A DECEASED INFANT. 



And this is death ! how cold and still, 

And yet how lovely it appears ! 
Too cold to let the gazer smile, 

But far too beautiful for tears. 
The sparkling eye no more is bright. 

The cheek hath lost its rose-like red ; 
And yet it is with strange delight 

I stand and gaze upon the dead. 

But when I see the fair wide brow 

Half shaded by the silken hair, 
That never looked so fair as now. 

When life and health were laughing there, 
I wonder not that grief should swell 

So wildly upward in the breast, 
And that strong passion once rebel. 

That need not, cannot be suppressed. 

I wonder not that parents' eyes, 

In gazing thus, grow cold and dim ; 
That burning tears and aching sighs 

Are blended with the funeral hymn. 
The spirit hath an earthly part, 

That weeps when earthly pleasure flies ; 
And Heaven would scorn the frozen heart 

That melts not when the infant dies. 



ON SEEING A DECEASED INFANT. 435 

And yet why mourn ? That deep repose 

Shall never more be broke by pain ; 
Those lips no more in sighs unclose, 

Those eyes shall never weep again. 
For tliink not that the blushing flower 

Shall wither in the churchyard sod : 
'Twas made to gild an angel's bower 

Within the paradise of God. 

Once more I gaze, — and swift and far 

The clouds of death and sorrow fly ; 
I see thee like a new-born star, 

Move up thy pathway in the sky : 
The star hath rays serene and bright, 

But cold and pale compared with thine ; 
For thy orb shines with heavenly light. 

With beams unfailing and divine. 

Then let the burthened heart be free, 

The tears of sorrow all be shed. 
And parents calmly bend to see 

The mournful beauty of the dead ; 
Thrice happy that their infant bears 

To Heaven no darkening stain of sin, 
And only breathed life's morning airs 

Before its evening storms begin. 

Farewell ! I shall not soon forget ! 

Although thy heart hath ceased to beat, ■ 
My memory warmly treasures yet 

Thy features calm and mildly sweet. 
But no : that look is not the last ; 

We yet may meet where seraphs dwell, 
Where love no more deplores the past. 

Nor breathes that withering word, — Farewell ! 

1825. 



436 



EXTRACT FROM A POEM, 



ENTITLED 



AND THE WATERS WERE ABATED." 



Now life looks smiling on the world again ; 
The bright waves dance, the ocean lifts its voice, 
Rejoicing that its work of death is done ; 
The forests send from out their caverned green 
The solemn fulness of the organ's tone, 
Deep as it rolls in temples made with hands ; 
The boundless fields unroll their velvet green, 
Where the tired eye may rest with calm delight ; 
The infant buds burst all their prisoning shells. 
And varied brilliants gem the hills and vales 
Like sprinklings from the morning's changing cloud. 
Or the fallen rainbow shivered into flowers. 
But high o'er all the rainbow firmly springs ; 
For now the sun hath scaled the barrier hills, 
And, slowly rising from his mountain-throne. 
Smiles on the lovely stranger of the heavens 
That fronts him on the purple robe of clouds. 
Whose dark folds roll in majesty away. 
'Tis beautiful ! Admiring hearts and eyes 
Are wondering raised, as if the angel files. 
With arms yet burning from the radiant blaze, 
Thronged in bright circle round the long-lost world, 
To hail its rising from its watery tomb. 



" AND THE WATERS WERE ABATED." 437 

'Tis beautiful ! — and all their hearts are peace; 

No more they ponder on the lately dead, 

Or dream how soon their own despair may come ; 

Their fears and sorrows find repose at last, ■ 

For God hath said it, and their hearts reply 

That God's own hand hath bent its arching tower, 

And joined its colored circles in the heaven. 

That all might read the language of his love. 

Oft as it drives the angry storm away. 

And breathes its calmness on the world below. 

Man would have staniped it in recording brass, 

Or graved it in the everlasting rock ; 

But God hath framed it finer than the air, 

With tints as frail as those of slenderest flowers. 

Or evening clouds that fade beneath the view. 

Thousands of years have risen and passed away, — 
Stars have expired, and yet the rainbow lives 
In all the brightness of its earlier light, 
On Nature's festivals to span the heavens, 
Till the last heart of man shall cease to beat, 
When mountains melt, and rocks are rent with fires. 
And ocean rolls its latest wave away. 

1826. 



37' 



438 



" MAN GIVETH UP THE GHOST, AND WHERE 
IS HE?" 



Where is he ? Hark ! his lonely home 

Is answering to the mournful call ! 
The setting sun with dazzling blaze 

May fire the windows of his hall ; 
But evening shadows quench the light. 

And all is cheerless, cold, and dim, 
Save where one taper wakes at night. 

Like weeping love remembering him. 

Where is he ? Hark ! the friend replies : 

" I watched beside his dying bed. 
And heard the low and struggling sighs 

That gave the living to the dead ; 
I saw his weary eyelids close. 

And then — the ruin coldly cast. 
Where all the loving and beloved. 

Though sadly parted, meet at last." 

Where is he ? Hark ! the marble says. 

That " here the mourners laid his head ; 
And here sometimes, in after-days, 

They came, and sorrowed for the dead : 
But one by one they passed away. 

And soon they left me here alone 
To sink in unobserved decay, — 

A nameless and neglected stone." 



" MAN GIVETII UP THE GHOST," ETC. 439 

Where is he ? Hark ! 'tis Heaven replies : 

" The star-beam of the purple sky, 
That looks beneath the evening's brow, 

Mild as some beaming angel's eye. 
As calm and clear it gazes down. 

Is shining from the place of rest, 
The pearl of his immortal crown. 

The heavenly radiaince of the blest ! " 



440 



PERICLES, 

When his friends and family were dead, and he himself was disgraced by the 
Athenians, showed no sign of emotion, till, at the funeral of his last surviv- 
ing son, he burst into tears as he attempted to place the funeral garland on 
his head. 



*' Who are these witli mournful tread, 
Wailing for the youthful dead ? 
Wherefore do the following crowd 
Breathe their sullen murmurs loud ? — 
And He ? the gathering crowds retire 
Before his eye's commanding fire : 
The lines of age are in his face. 
But time bends not his martial grace, 

Nor sorrow bows his head ; 
And, while the maddening throng condemn. 
He hath not even a thought for them : 

His soul is with the dead ! " 

Stranger, 'twould fire my aged cheek 
That deeply injured name to speak : 
'Twas once the Athenian's breath of life, 
The watchword of the bloodiest strife ; 
For, when he led the marshalled brave, 
His galley rode the foremost wave ; 
And, when the thundering shock began. 
His sword was blazing in the van. 

Who hath not seen the stormy crowd 
Before his mild persuasion bowed ; 



PERICLES. 441 

Or sunk to earth as o'er them passed 
His burning accents fierce and fast ? 
Like the breeze the meadow bending. 

Lightly in its evening play. 
Like the storm the mountain rending, 

Hurrying on its whirlwind-way. 
He told the funeral praise of those 
Who fell before our Samian foes ; 
He made our hearts with rapture swell, 
That Athens triumphed when they fell : 
Bat when he changed the scene again. 
And showed them bleeding on the plain. 

Far from all that life endears, 
We wept for those ill-fated men. 
And knew not which was mightiest then, 

The glory or the tears. 

Look within that marble court. 

Where the sculptured fount is playing ; 

See the youth, in innocent sport, 
Each his mimic fleet arraying ; 

See the yellow sunbeams fall 

Through the garden's wreathing wall. 

Where fruit-groves paint with sweetness lean 

Their ponderous flakes of massy green, 

In which the mansion's turrets sleep 

Like sunny islands in the deep. 

Those courts are mine ; and, but for him. 

My blood had died that fountain's brim ; 

And cold and blackened ruins pressed 

The spot so peaceful, calm, and blest. 

Look round on many a roof, excelling 
The splendor of a prince's dwelling ; 



442 PERICLES. 

And mark those groves in shady ranks, 
Climbing up the marble banks 

To where yon dark hill towers 
Like Athens in her virgin pride, 
Surveying far on every side 

Her wide-extended powers. 
Look ! for my aged eyes are dim, — 
'Tis glorious ! and 'tis all from him. 
The Parthenon rears its pearly crown, 
Fair, as if Heaven had sent it down ; 
But he that temple upward threw, 
Against the clear transparent blue. 
Like our own goddess, from the head 

Of Jove in youth immoi'tal springing, 
A gentle grace is round it shed. 

Far, far abroad its radiance flinging. 
The many-colored tints of day 
Around its finish love to play, 
And gild its pillars light and proud, 
As gravings from the evening cloud ; 
He made the marble spring to earth 
In all this loveliness of birth ; 
A thing for nations to adore 
And love, but never rival more. 

Go to the battle's stormy plain. 
Where clanging squadrons charge again, 
And read the war-cry on their lips ; 
Or go to Athens' thousand ships, 
And ask what name of power presides 
Above the battle of the tides ; 
And when the harp of after-days 
Is ringing high to notes of praise. 



PERICLES. 443 

Go, read what name has longest hung 
Upon the true Athenian's tongue. 

" Injured old man ! and can it be, 
Thy country hath rewarded thee. 
By striving with ungenerous aim 
To change thy glory into shame r " 

Death struck the dearest from his side, 

Till none were left but one ; 
And now he mourns that only pride, 

His sole surviving son. 
He kept the sternness of his heart, 

The brightness of his eye ; 
But death hath struck the tenderest part. 

And he begins to die. 
He hath none left to bear disgrace. — 

" Oh may it fall on Athens' race ! 
May they go down to well-earned graves 
Of thankless and dishonored slaves I 
How many a time in future years 
Shall they recall with hopeless tears 
That glorious day's departed sun, 
When Athens and renown were one. 
Then the Greek maid will fain discover 
Thy spirit in her youthful lover ; 
And matrons press their infants' charms 
With warmer triumph in their arms, 
When breathing prayers that they may see 
Their darling child resembling thee ! " 

The hero by the burial stands 

With head declined and folded hands ; 



444 PERICLES. 

But when he vainly tries to spread 
The garland on that marble head, 
At once upon his memory throng 
The thoughts of unresented wrong ; 
The thankless land he could not save, 
The home now colder than the grave ; 
And bursts of grief, with sudden start, 
Spring upward in his withered heart. 
'Tis but a moment, — and 'tis past ; 
That moment's frenzy is the last : 

His eye no more is dim. 
But bitterer tears than these shall fall 
Within the guilty city's wall, 

When Athens weeps for him. 

1826. 



415 



LINES TO 



She died " aa the grasa 
Which witbereth afore it proweth up ; 
Wherewith the mower fillcth not liia hand. 
Neither he that bindcth sheaves his bosom." 



While the pooi- wanderer of life is in this vale of tears, 
There will be hours when hearts look back to dear de- 
parted years : 
Around him night is falling fast, he feels the evening chills. 
But sees warm sunshine lingering yet on youth's far-dis- 
tant hills. 

The lovely form of youthful hope revisits his sad heart, 
And joy that long since bade farewell, but could not quite 

depart, 
And friendship once so passing sweet, too pure and strong 

to die. 
And those delicious tears of love he did not wish to dry. 

Oft I remember thus, and feel the mystery of the hour ; 
I know not then if joy or grief possess the mightier power : 
While many a loved departed one 'tis pleasure to recall, 
'Tis anguish to remember thee, the loveliest of them all. 

Yes ! sadly welcomed and with tears is now, and long 

must be, 
The memory of my parting hour, my earliest friend, from 

thee : 

38 



446 LINES TO . 

For common hopes and common joys I deeply mourn 

apart ; 
Bnt the remembrance of the loss, — it thunderstrikes the 

heart. 

For, oh ! how fast and fervently, when life is in its spring. 

Hand bound to hand, and heart to heart, the young affec- 
tions cling ; 

By early and unaltcring love our souls were joined in 
one. 

With ties that death hath burst indeed, but never hath 
undone. 

Now death hath thrown us wide apart ; but memory 

treasures yet — 
Too painful to remember now, too lovely to forget — 
Thy manner like an angel's pure, thy mild and mournful 

grace, 
And all the rosy light of youth that kindled in thy face ; 

The open brow with sunny curls around its arches thrown, 

The speaking eye through which the soul in melting ra- 
diance shone. 

The smile that lighted up the lip with bright and pensive 
glow, 

And the dark shade that o'er it passed, when tears began 
to flow. 

And then how sternly beautiful the spirit bold and high 
That lighted o'er thy marble brow, and filled thy radiant 

eye, 
"When, seated by the evening fire,' or rambling side by side. 
We read how holy sufferers lived, or glorious martyrs 

died. 



LINES TO 



447 



And thus with feeling all the same, with bright and ear- 
nest eye, 

We held communion long and sweet with ocean, earth, 
and sky : 

They told the glory of our God, they bore our thoughts 
above. 

And made us purer as we heard their eloquence of love. 

And so within the temple-walls we stood with childish 

awe, 
And wondered why our fathers feared a God they never 

saw. 
Till we had learned and loved to raise our early offering 

there, 
To join the deep and plaintive hymn, or pour our souls 

in prayer. 

Was this a happiness too pure for erring man to know ? 
Or why did Heaven so soon destroy my happiness below ? 
For, lovely as the vision was, it sunk away as soon 
As when, in quick and cold eclipse, the sun grows dark 
at noon. 

I gazed with trembling in thine eye, — its living light was 

fled; 
Upon thy cheek was deeply stained the cold unusual red : 
The violet vein that wandered up beneath thy shining hair 
Contrasted with thy snowy brow, — the seal of death was 

there ! 

And then thy sweet and gentle voice confirmed that we 

must part, — 
That voice whose every tone, till then, was music to my 

heart : 



4 l^S LINKS m 



I shuddered at the warning words, — I could not let 

thee go. 
And leave me journeying here alone in weariness and 

woe. 

But thou art gone, too early gone, and I am doomed to 

stay. 
Perhaps till many a year has rolled its weary weight away : 
Thou wast the glory of my heart, my hopes were heavenly 

fair. 
But now my guiding star is set in darkness and despair. 

'Tis thus the stream in early life before us seems to run. 
Now stealing through the fragrant shade, now sparkling 

in the sun ; 
But soon it breaks upon the rock with wild and mournful 

roar. 
Or, heavily spread upon the plain, lies slumbering on the 

shore. 

1826. 



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